Tales from a Campfire
by Lizzy Rebel
Summary: in which fairytales, legends, and sorted mythology are told by knights, pirates, urchins, and princesses to hold off boredom and depression. complete
1. Basch's Tale

**disclaimer:** disclaims

**teaser:** in which fairytales, legends, and sorted mythology are told by knights, pirates, urchins, and princesses to hold off boredom and depression (more or less)

**Author's Notes:** honestly? This was too fun, not to. Also, everyone on livejournal insane and it spreads. Oh, it spreads. Other than that I honestly have no idea. Enjoy!

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**/the boy-king who removed the Sword from the Stone, as related by Basch/  
**_(or the retelling of King Arthur of Camelot)_

Somehow, they made it through the Giza Plains without speaking to each other. And such phrases as "watch your back" and "there is a large frog behind you" and "don't attack it with magick, Vaan!" didn't count.

Balthier paused and frowned at the mud that caked his vest. He had taken a nasty spill into the banks of the flooding dry beds in the Giza Plains and he'd yet to find a way to clean himself. Fran, bless her heart, had handed him a handkerchief—as his was just as muddy as the rest of him—but it had been sacrificed to remove the dirt crusted on his face.

The whole party was dirty, Balthier noted, and felt a sour taste rise in his throat. Oh, no doubt Vaan didn't mind it, but Balthier actually _liked_ to be clean. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually rolled around in the mud, accidently or otherwise.

Fran seemed to be faring the best out of the party, looking mostly clean save for the few flecks of dirt that clung to her white shift. She seemed to be unaware of them and Balthier decided to save himself from a confrontation by pointing them out.

Their little princess was actually doing the worst. Well, other than Penelo—and Penelo had sixteen years of experience on avoiding the mud of the Giza Plains in the wet season—Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca was the shortest of the group and in the ensuing battles mud was bound to be kicked up.

Now, the haughty princess looked little more than a street urchin. Her hair flying every which way, matted with mud and dirt, her bared legs caked with the stuff. Her nose and cheeks looked they were decorated in war paint.

And she looked displeased about it.

In fact, they all looked to be in a rather sore mood. Basch stood protectively in front of Ashe, his sword out, and the former knight looked almost _ready_ to fight. Almost eager. Penelo hobbled along beside Vaan, occasionally reaching out to touch his wrist—as if to solidify his existence—but her normally chipper voice was silent. Even Vaan himself seemed content to kick up stones as he trudged.

They were all a little down. And Balthier knew why.

Vossler. Everyone took betrayal hard. Basch had spent two years in prison believing that Vossler would never once surrender, break, or give in, and Vaan hero-worshipped any man who could swing a sword. And Penelo had probably never actually _fought_ someone to the death before.

Even Fran had been put down by the betrayal—once she had calmed down from the burning Mist. She wasn't taking it as hard as the rest, but it was still a bit darkening to think that so stalwart a knight could betray those he cared for, and still think it the right decision in the end.

And he knew Ashe was taking it the hardest. And who could blame her? She had spent two years in hiding with him, trusting him, believing that Vossler would help her no matter what. And then she had killed him, she had offered him no forgiveness, no understanding. She could not break, not a woman in her position.

He frowned and resisted the urge to rub his temples. If he had known that it would have come to this… no matter, he had made his deal with the devil. It was time to see it through.

Ashe would occasionally rub the ring-finger on her left hand, as if the discolored band of skin was an irritation to her. And it made Balthier feel guilty. Only a grand fool would not be able to surmise what the ring had been, why she had worn it.

Balthier could swear he almost felt the weight of the simple band of silver that he had shoved into his pocket when he had had no other idea what to do with it. He had toyed with the notion of slipping it onto his own finger, but the princess was in a bad enough mood to actually stab at him for it.

Up ahead, Basch came to a sudden halt, Ashe all but smacking into his back. He turned to address the party.

"We'll rest here for the night," he said and Ashe frowned a moment before nodding in acceptance.

_Well, Balthier thought, at least it isn't mud._ The Ozmone Plains were actually fairly picturesque, if one ignored the poisonous snakes and rabid, giant horses. And those damn birds. But other than that.

Fran moved forward and she and Basch went about setting up a campfire.

Ashe sat down wearily and rubbed her stiff shoulders as Basch ordered Vaan to collect more firewood. Penelo knelt down beside Ashe, finally noticing a nasty cut across the princess's hip. Balthier frowned again.

"I'm alright," she told the younger girl, but her voice sounded strained and hurt. Penelo went to healing anyway.

In silence they prepared for sleep, but sleep did not come. Two hours after everything had been set up, they still remained in front of the crackling fire, looking into it's orange flames, and finding absolutely nothing to say to each other.

Their time in Rabanastre hadn't felt so strained, though, admittedly, they had each been able to go off on their own. In fact, other than the day they had all met in the tavern to discover their next course of action, they had never been in the same place all at once.

Balthier looked over at Ashe, who sighed softly under her breath, her hand sneaking down to rub the discolored band of skin on her finger.

He grinded his teeth and looked over at Penelo, who had curled her knees under her chin and leaned in close to Vaan.

Then, Fran said the magic words, "It seems we are very restless…"

"Vaan and I… well, we've never been this far out," Penelo admitted, absently twiddling with her fingers as she glanced over at the Viera. "And who knows what they Gerif are really like? They might b—be mean or not friendly. I think I heard once that they're not friendly to—"

"Little we can do about that now, can we? Best to take your mind off it." Balthier pressed his palms into the dirt beneath him, leaning back and grinning slowly. "Hmm… I have just the thing. How about a story?"

"A story?" Vaan asked, his interest piquing. Even Ashe glanced over at him in surprise. "You know a story, Balthier?"

"Well, I can't remember one just right now," he lied, and scanned their little group. "But I've a feeling… _Basch_ might know a tale or two to humor us."

The former knight's eyes narrowed at the pirate, who grinned cheekily back him. Then he looked at Vaan and Penelo, staring at him eagerly, to Ashe, who did not look away from the fire. Finally, he sighed.

"I do remember… a certain story," he said after a long pause.

"Is there a sword fight?" Vaan wanted to know.

"Is there romance?" Penelo asked at the same time.

"There is a magickal sword," Basch answered. "It's a legend that I heard a long time ago. When I was a young boy, I'd insist my mother tell me it over and over again. No matter how many times I heard it, I'd never grow tired of it. And I never forgot it."

"Well, don't tease us," Balthier commanded, watching out of the corner of his eye as Ashe lifted her head to look over at Basch. "Tell the story."

Basch sighed deeply. "Alright. Alright." He glanced at Vaan and Penelo. "Don't interrupt."

_"Once, before the lands we know today were called their names, and before there were empires and before we even recorded history, there was a small town that was unremarkable in every way. It was called Camelot, which means 'simple' in the old languages._

People continued on their lives for a number of countless years, content with their normalcy. Their serenity and happiness.

But then, one day, a strange woman walked into the town. She said nothing to those who stopped to stare at her. She looked at not a soul. Her hair was long, blonde, and seemed to shift around her like water. Her dress seemed to be translucent, but it was not see-though. Some whispered that she was made of water. And they were correct. For she was the Lady of the Lake.

Onward she walked until she came into the courtyard owned by the town's blacksmith. She paused and looked 'round her, as if taking note of her surrounding for the first time. Then she stepped into the center of the courtyard and stood.

The blacksmith and his sons gathered around this strange woman as she planted her palm upon the ground. From beneath her milky fingertips rose a stone, wide and large, made of a sturdy gray. Solid and unbreakable.

Then the woman touched just the tips of her fingers to the stone and in a blinding flash of light, rose a sword. A beautiful sword, unmatched by any that would be made before or after, enchanted and pulsing with power.

"The man," said the woman, "who takes this sword from the stone will be the mightiest king to ever rule, and shall rule long, with those of blood immortal as his eternal allies."

And then, just as she was there, she was gone.

The news traveled fast, that a fey woman of ancient blood had left a magickal sword for the One True King. Knights came far and wide to pull the sword from its entrapment, but each knight left in vain. The sword remained, stuck, steadfast, unmoving in the face of many noble and brave knights.

Soon, men from all breed came to try their hand. For, they argued, the Lady had not said 'the knight who takes this sword' she had said 'the man who takes this sword' and thus it could fall to anyone to rule the land.

The blacksmith and his sons, who until that moment had been merely content to enjoy the new commerce they received from knights who traveled to the Sword in their courtyard, decided that it was time to try the sword for their own.

"The Lady has left the sword in our _midst, has she not?" said the father to his four sons. "Obviously, it was meant to fall to one of us to rule."_

Three sons were eager and ready, and it fell to the fourth to look after the shop as the rest of the men went to try their hand.

This son, the youngest, was called Arthur. He had no knack for the making of weapons or horse-shoes. Instead, he seemed more ready to dream his day away. He was gangly and stuttered and no one in the town expected anything of him.

But this did not disappointed Arthur. He was more than willing to remain unseen and anonymous. Already, he knew that to be king would be to sacrifice all freedom. And that power was a lonely bedmate.

So, on the day his family left to the courtyard, Arthur took his place at the smithy, wondering if perhaps he would become the brother of a king. For it was well known that his father and his brothers were all noble men, with ambitious and the knowledge to rule.

And Arthur was so lost in his daydreams that he did not notice the old, withered man walk into the shop until he stood in front of Arthur, staring down at the boy with twinkling eyes, hidden behind long white hair and a thick, white beard that fell to the floor.

"You must be the young Arthur," said the man and smiled, his face wrinkled with it. "I have heard a great deal about you."

There was something about this man that made Arthur think of a river in winter. Calm and serene at the top, but churning and powerful underneath.

"May I help you, kind sir?" requested the young Arthur, suddenly feeling as if he stared into his own future. "I am Arthur Pendragon, son of Royce Pendragon, owner of this smithy we stand in."

"And I am simply Merlin, too old to remember from where I come." The old man here smiled. "I daresay you will be able to help me. I seek the Sword in the Stone. Might you know the way?"

"Yes, sir. It is my father who owns the land on which the stone and the sword stands. Shall I take you there?" Arthur knew that he had been forbidden to leave the shop unattended, but this man was old and fading and it would not do for Arthur to let him walk on his own.

"Thank you, my son. My bones are frail and I do need some assistance to reach my destination." Merlin waited for Arthur to come 'round to him.

Arthur guided the man down to the courtyard that was owned by his family, not sure why, but feeling as if his heart and his feet grew heavy with each step. Still, something would not allow him to turn back, no matter how much he found he wished to do so.

At last, they came upon the courtyard, and the lines of knight who stood to wait for their chance to try the Sword. There, in the long line, stood Arthur's family and they landed their angry eyes upon him.

"Did I not tell you to watch the shop?" demanded his father, nearly stepping out of line to browbeat the boy. "Where is your head?"

"Oh noble blacksmith," implored the old Merlin, "reprimand not this boy, for he left the smithy must reluctantly. But I am old and frail and could not have reached this sacred place on my own. He has acted most chivalrously."

Royce Pendragon there subsided his anger, though he glared most grievously at his son, and Arthur's brothers looked away, back to the sword.

"Now then," old Merlin called and motioned Arthur to take him forward. "Would you knights begrudge an old man's last request to touch a sword of mythical powers?"

The knights could not deny the old man this right, and, of course, how could an old man and a skinny, unsightly boy be a threat to their kinghood? And so, they made way for Merlin and Arthur and they stepped to the stone.

Merlin lifted his hand and touched the hilt of this ancient sword. He sucked in a breath, as if it psychically pained him, and then turned his smiling eyes to young Arthur.

"Ah, my dear son, will you remove this sword from this stone for me?" Merlin then asked of Arthur and the boy could barely stop himself from laughing.

Him? Little Arthur Pendragon, remove the Sword from the Stone? No knight had been able to do so. What hope did he have? But the old man stared at him so imploringly, that Arthur decided to show him that he could not and allow him to slink away in disappointment.

He curled his fingers around the hilt and for a moment Arthur could only gasp in surprise. For this sword felt as if it was his _sword. It felt as if the world around him suddenly clicked into place and he knew, knew, that if he moved just an inch, just a fraction of an inch, his life would change forevermore._

But he could not stop destiny. For this is what this was.

So Arthur pulled the Sword from the Stone.

"And so," Merlin said, smiling sadly at the boy. "Excalibur falls to its rightful lord. My lord, I am Merlin the Wizard, who has traveled far to pledge fidelity to the man who would be the king of Camelot and all the land."

And a great hush fell over the land as light burst forth from Merlin and surrounded Arthur and all who saw him dropped to their knees in awe, for this boy was transformed to a king in the blink of an eye.

Arthur merely stared down into the sword in his hand and felt his whole world drop away. He was half-tempted to return the sword, to demand that Merlin find someone else, but he knew there was no other. The sword—Excalibur—had always been his _sword. And if he did not take up the kinghood, there would be no king of Camelot._

Camelot would need a king and so Arthur took the oath to rule and buried childhood daydreams and knew he did the right thing.

In time, he married the beautiful May Bride Guinevere and Camelot became the place of eternal peace and tranquility. Arthur formed a loyal following of knights, where such knight as Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad the Pure made their marks, who fought for justice and truth and peace. And Merlin was his ever faithful advisor, offering wisdom and advice, never straying from Arthur's side.

And though Arthur might have missed the simplicity of his life as the youngest son of a blacksmith, he found some measure of happiness in seeing the smiling faces of his people and his wife's kind nature.

So it came to pass that the young boy Arthur Pendragon became King Arthur of Camelot, the greatest king to have ever lived."

Balthier yawned. "Well, you certainly put us to sleep."

Basch looked about ready to flush and he glared at the sky pirate. "You suggested I tell a tale."

"Yes, but leave it to you to choose the worst of the lot." Balthier lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Chivalry and old men who are wizards and young boys who are kings. Courtly romance and politics. Bland and dull, that."

"And I suppose," Basch grounded out, "you have some story that is much more interesting?"

"Well, of course. Not exactly terribly straining to top that, is it?" Balthier asked.

"I liked it, Basch!" Penelo said helpfully, smiling up at him. "Did Arthur love the woman he married?"

"As much as a king could, I suppose," Basch answered. "I can't remember the full tale, but Guinevere falls in love with Lancelot, Arthur's most favorite knight, and that brings the end of Camelot and knights."

"Do they fight over her?" Vaan wanted to know, frowning. "Like to the death?"

"What does it matter?" Ashe finally spoke up, deep in thought. "She betrayed Arthur, this May Bride. She doesn't deserve to be fought over. She deserves to be forgotten."

"But Ashe!" Penelo protested, predictably.

"A little harsh, isn't that?" Balthier asked and offered a smile. "Guinevere didn't love the king. It was a marriage by the order of her father."

"She should have remembered her duty," Ashe snapped.

"The point of the story was to help us sleep better. You will get none of that if you insist on arguing," Fran pointed out calmly.

"Well, I _am_ tired," Penelo agreed and looked over her shoulders at the tents they had set up. "But do I need to sleep in that? Can't we camp out in the open?"

"It doesn't seem like there will be rain," Fran replied, her nose tilted slightly in the air.

"Great! C'mon, Penelo," Vaan said as he stood, taking Penelo's wrist. The two children scampered off to the tents to dig out their blankets and set up to camp out underneath the stars.

Ashe stood as well and walked off, the darkness nearly swallowing her. Basch instantly rose to accompany her.

"I got it," Balthier told him, standing as well and brushing off the dirt from his pants. "I'm the one that made her mad."

Basch looked as if he was less than thrilled with that idea, but Fran called him over to help douse the fire. Basch sent him a warning look before he went to help Fran—who didn't need it, but understood that Balthier needed to deal with Ashe.

At least Ashe had thought enough not too stray to far from the safety of their camp. Balthier approached her slowly.

"Not a happily ever after sort of girl, are you?" he asked and Ashe lifted her shoulder in a shrug. "Or is that you cannot abide weakness in anyone?"

"I got caught up in the story," Ashe said tightly, refusing to look at him, and Balthier thought he caught a hint of embarrassment in her words. "I've never heard it before."

Moonlight made her hair look even paler, and her skin nearly porcelain. It was a surprise that someone who had lived in the desert heat all her life had managed to remain so pale and creamy. Balthier blinked and forced the thought away.

"That doesn't come as a shock. It's a fairly old tale, and few books have the legends of King Arthur and his Knights in them." Balthier tilted his head to the side and considered her. "And I suppose you didn't have much time for reading, did you?"

Ashe's head spun to him and she glared at him. "Of course I did! I read all the time. Sword techniques, and self-defense books, and proper etiquette. And—"

"Oh princess, you poor deprived child you." Balthier lifted a hand to his heart, as if her words psychically wounded him. "Did you never read a fairy tale? Where the prince sweeps the princess off her feet and they live happily ever after? Did no one ever think to give you such a book?"

"Once," Ashe said so softly that it took a moment for Balthier to realize what she said.

He lifted a brow. "Truly? Who?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Her voice was stiff again and she walked away from him, her head down. "Leave me be, Balthier. I have nothing for you."

A frown crossed his face. He walked up behind her, opening his mouth to say something. Ashe was rubbing that discolored strip of skin again, her shoulders stiff and unfriendly, her position stating that she was a woman used to standing alone. That a man such as he would not be welcomed near her.

Balthier threw his hands into the air and walked back to camp, leaving her alone in the dark, not sure why he was suddenly so angry.

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**notes:** told you, too fun not to. XD It's fun to imagine the party telling fairytales and myths that we all know and all, innit?


	2. Penelo's Tale

**disclaimer:** does it's job

**teaser:** in which fairytales, legends, and sorted mythology are told by knights, pirates, urchins, and princesses to hold off boredom and depression (more or less)

**author's notes:** you know, school is a bitch. A stupid bitch. Especially science, with it's three hour labs and practicals. I don't care about color spectrums. It can bite me.

I am a bitter woman.

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**/the lovely maiden who slept away in the Tower, as related by Penelo/  
**_(or a retelling of the Sleeping Beauty)_

It was understood that they could not pass the night in Eruyt Village. They were fortunate enough to have escaped the village without being pummeled by arrows and angry Viera. It would not do to try their luck.

And even if the offer had been on the table, Balthier would not have been keen to take it up. He had little love for people who could so easily ostracize one of their own. Oh, he had known well before the day of Fran's estrangement from her sisters and her people, but he had felt the same about it then as he did now.

Fran may have believed that Jote had done what was right by her, but Balthier could not abide it. They were blood, they were sisters, they were all they had. How could they simply pretend that the one did not exist? What was worse, he knew Fran yearned for Jote and Mjrn. To speak to them, to touch them and feel their life. She never told himself, but they had come to the point where they did not need words. He _knew_.

But Fran would never speak on it.

It put him in such a sour mood, the thought of what had happened to Fran. Because, mostly, his thoughts strayed to a man he'd rather not think about. He and his father had severed their ties neatly, and Balthier had made it a habit not to think on the man one bit.

Perhaps that had been why he and Fran had gotten along so well. They both knew what it was like to have no family to turn to, to rely on, to _trust_.

Balthier frowned. His mood had been sour upon setting out from Eruyt Village, Mjrn delivered safely to the bosom of the Wood, and thinking on the man he had purposely and single mindedly thrust from his life would do little to help him.

On the bright side, the rest of the party seemed to be faring better. Likely, it was the presence of Larsa Solidor that did the trick. The boy did seem to be able to make everyone smile. Even Basch had flirted with a smile at the youth's eagerness and hope.

The young lordling was now talking in an animated language to Penelo, their voices both high and merry. Basch trailed at their side, Ashe having sent him to the back of the party to protect the two youngest members of their group, since neither Larsa nor Penelo seemed to take into full stock their situation. Fran, as always, was by Balthier's own side, lost in her own thoughts.

Surprisingly, it was Vaan and Ashe who took the lead. Not that Balthier had issues with that, as Ashe was more than capable, but Vaan had much to learn.

That, and since they had left the Gerif village in the Ozmore Plains, Vaan had seemed to be get into his head that he was the sole protector of Ashe. Of course, the boy had had a hard case of puppy love before that, but it had been tolerable then. Now it was… an annoyance.

It would be one thing, Balthier decided, if the boy had the stamina for it. But Vaan had the tendency to trip over his own feet in his haste to impress Ashe and it really just caused more problems for the party.

What was worse, was that Ashe did nothing to dissuade the boy. Well, she didn't encourage him, either. But she seemed to accept it as due course. As something Vaan merely _would_ do. Honestly, she needed to say something before the whelp got in over his head.

They came to the small, little dell that seemed unnaturally peaceful in comparison to the rest of the jungle. The only inhabitants were two stony-eyed Viera who quickly scampered off when they arrived, most likely to inform Jote that the humes were indeed leaving the jungle.

But the Viera would be disappointed because the sudden tranquility of the Golmore Jungle reminded them how truly tired they all were. It was Ashe who made the suggestion to rest for the passing of the night and even Larsa, who was eager to get to Mt. Bur-Omisace, tiredly nodded his head.

This time Penelo set up the campfire, trying out her new black magic spell. Balthier and Basch went around digging out thick blankets. The jungle was dense to worry about rain, but already there was a chill from the far reaches of the Paramina Rift.

He set up his makeshift bed at the edge of the camp, not because he didn't prefer their company, but he had gotten into the habit of sleeping at one edge, Basch at the other, and with a gun close at hand.

Getting attached to the group was probably a bad idea, but the act had become a habit before he had thought to stop it.

Balthier finished the straightening the edges of his blanket just as Ashe's footfalls halted before him. He titled his head up, enjoying the view of creamy legs and thighs disappearing into that ridiculously short skirt… honestly, what had Vossler been thinking?

"You're going to freeze in the Paramina Rift," he told her, his voice lacking its normal friendliness and teasing.

Ashe said nothing, merely stared down at him. Balthier shrugged and refused to be moved by her stare, going about smoothing the invisible wrinkles in his blanket.

Finally, she knelt beside him, which was a surprise in itself. Ashe was frowning—but it wasn't often when she wasn't; the look would soon become a permanent fixture on her face if she wasn't careful—at him, thoughtful.

"Something's bothering you," she said, at last.

"Well, you're not the only one who can become annoyed, princess." He looked over at her, raising a scathing eyebrow. "What concern of yours is it if I do happen to feel a little moody today? Hardly stops me from doing what I'm paid to do, does it?"

"That's not it at all," Ashe said, scowling at him. "I was merely concerned. It isn't like you to—to be… so emotional."

"Your concern is hardly necessary," Balthier answered, a little sharper than intended. It wasn't Ashe, it was him. His father was not a subject even Fran broached. She knew about the man, but only because she had told Balthier about her own family.

"Fine," Ashe snapped, her voice torn between anger and hurt. She went to stand and stomp away.

"Wait. Wait. Sit down." When she made no move to obey, Balthier merely grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down beside him. "Forgive me, princess, but I've not been in the best of moods."

"Is it Fran?" Those pale brows furrowed. "How can family simply abandon each other?"

"Oh, without much trouble," Balthier answered on a sigh. And then shook his head. "Don't think on it too much, princess. Fran doesn't let it bother her."

"Are you truly worried about the Nethicite?" Ashe asked suddenly and it took Balthier a moment longer than it should have to smooth his face into a neutral mask. Ashe caught it. "Before, when Fran showed us to Eruyt Village, she said that it did. I didn't want to say anything then, but—"

"You and I both saw what it did to the _Leviathan_. Why shouldn't it worry me?"

"No," Ashe said, her eyes thoughtful as she studied him. "It's more than that. And even if that was it, how do you know so much about it?"

There was no way he would tell Ashe about his heritage, about his father, about _any_ of it. But what surprised Balthier was that he wanted to.

"Who gave you that book of fairytales?" he countered.

Ashe looked away and Balthier sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

"Let's agree to disagree, shall we?" Balthier suggested, not sure why the idea of her being unhappy with him left a sour taste in his mouth. Things to think on later, he supposed. Certainly not now.

"Very well," Ashe said tightly, still not pleased.

Oh, this princess was the definition of 'a handful'. "Ashe—"

"Hey, Penelo!" Vaan called from his spot in front of the fire, rubbing the top of his lip. "Why don't you tell a story this time?"

"What?" Larsa asked, looking between the two blonde children he was seated behind. "Story telling?"

"Oh! That's right!" Penelo clapped her hands eagerly in front of her face, grinning over at Larsa. "Larsa wasn't here for Basch's story. And it's such fun! What one should I tell, Vaan?"

"Hmm…" Vaan frowned in consideration. "How about the one—"

"I know!" Penelo's smile grew even wider, if that was possible. "You'll love it, Larsa."

"And what is this tale?" Fran questioned from her spot opposite Penelo. Basch grunted his own question as he struggled to cook the remaining raw meat on the fire. The man failed so aptly at cooking, and yet they all seemed willing to pass the duty to him.

Balthier, for his part, did not eat anything Basch cooked. Instead, he lived on bread and cheese until they reached a town with a proper inn.

"The one about the lovely maiden who slept away in a tower, dreaming of her true love's first kiss!"

"Ah, Penelo. Not that one again," Vaan grounded, losing his interest in the story entirely. "I'm going to bed."

"Fine!" Penelo snapped at him, sticking at her tongue. "You want to hear it, don't you, Larsa?"

"Of course, Penelo," the young boy replied, his face just a tad flustered as the sole recipient of such a bright smile.

"Balthier," Ashe began, turning back to their conversation, keeping her voice low. Balthier lifted one finger to his lips and shushed her. Ashe looked ready to break his fingers.

"You've led a deprived childhood, remember, princess? I daresay that listening to Penelo's story will give you a taste of what you should have been reading instead of your sword-cleaning technique books," Balthier told her and turned his attention back to Penelo as she opened her mouth.

_"Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a king and queen who loved each other very much. But they never had a child and each day they grew sadder and sadder. The queen moaned in her room, begging the gods for a child to call her own. _

But for many years, her wish was not granted. The kingdom mourned, believing they would never see an heir.

And then, one day, their wish was granted! A baby was born to the queen and the whole kingdom rejoiced. A grand feast was ordered from all over the land, and everyone was invited to attend. The king and queen wanted their daughter to have everything her heart desired.

It was decided that the three good fairies would be invited to the feast as well, and be made godparents to the young princess, whom they named Aurora.

On the day of the feast, the three good fairies presented their gifts. The eldest fairy granted the tiny princess the gift of the beauty of spring, to be fresh and pure and bright. The middle fairy gave the princess the gift of the songbird, making her voice sound like the clearest water, a voice to make the nightingale jealous.

As the youngest fairy readied her gift, there was a sudden gust of wind. All turned around just in time to see that before them stood the evil and vile witch Melinda. She glowered at them from beneath her hood, her eyes narrowed into slits, her skin pale from lack of warmth and her familiar, a crow, hovering just above her head.

"What a lovely feast," drawled Melinda. "Such guests! From all parts of our world… but, pray tell, why was I not invited such a lovely gathering? Surely, my gift to the princess would not be so unwelcome?"

"Y—your eminence," the queen whispered, near fainting in terror. "It—it's not necessary."

"Oh, but it is," replied the wicked woman, lifting a long, sharp fingernail to point at the tiny crib that held the dozing princess. "A gift for the perfect, precious princess from Melinda."

"Stop—" the king tried, but too late! The curse was spoken.

"For sixteen years shall the princess enjoy her gifts and her youth. She shall daydream about princes and knights and happily-ever-after and such a time will be happy for all. But, come the eve of her sixteenth year, shall she happen upon a spinning wheel. And oh! She pricks her finger on the spindle. Nor more than a single drop of blood shall spill to floor before the princess falls as well. Dead to the world!"

"No!" the queen cried.

"Horrid woman!" the king shouted.

"So is the gift of Melinda the Witch!" the twisted creature crackled and with any gust of wind she was gone, only the curse remaining.

And terrible was the grief of the king and queen as they looked helplessly upon— 

"Penelo!" Vaan shouted from his blankets, lifting himself noisily to glare at her. "You're telling it wrong! What about the king and the witch battling? And the witch burning some of the castle guards to ash? And how she decapitated the one soldier?"

"Reks just made that part up to keep you interested," Penelo told him a bit haughtily. "That's not how it really goes. Now, let me finish!"

"But—"

"Vaan!" Larsa cried, frustrated. "I want to hear the rest!"

"Thank you, Larsa." Penelo blessed the boy with a wide smile, causing him to go red in the face and fumble awkwardly with his 'welcome'.

"Vaan, be quiet. This is Penelo's story and she can relate it however she pleases," Basch said and his voice was firm and left no room for arguments. "Please continue, Penelo."

"Alright… now… where was I?"

_"Then, the youngest fairy stepped forward, looking upon the mourning king and queen with great pity in her eyes. _

"All is not lost, Majesties," said the kind fairy. "For I have not yet given my gift. And it shall be thus: I cannot fully undo Melinda's spell, this is true, but I can change it. Prick her finger, she shall, but death she will not endue. Instead, she will drift into a deep slumber, were she will be comforted by dreams and hopes. There shall she remained, young and pure, until the first kiss of true love awakens her."

Though the youngest fairy's gift comforted the king and queen, they still dreaded the day that was to come. The king ordered all the spinning wheels in the kingdom to be destroyed in a great fire, and the queen forbade Aurora to go outside the palace.

Aurora grew, flourishing with the fairies' gifts, and become the most beautiful woman in the land. Yet, few looked upon her for she was forbidden to leave the palace, though she did not know why.

And the land grew so peaceful, and so happy, and Aurora became such a wonderful girl that the fear the king and queen had over her sixteenth birthday began to diminish. Almost as if the curse had never been spoken.

On the day that Aurora turned sixteen she eagerly prowled the castles, imaging the fine party that awaited her at the end of the day. She wandered off toward the older parts of her castle, her mind filled with happy images and laughter. Servants and the palace's residents were busy preparing for Aurora's sixteenth birthday party that they did not notice that she went off alone.

Suddenly, Aurora came up a set of spiraling stairs that she had never seen before! She had not even been aware of its existence! Curious to where they led, Aurora climbed the stairs, coming closer and closer to a bright light that peeked out from behind a closed door.

She pushed open the door to discover an old woman working beside a strange spinning machine she had never seen before. Unable to stop herself, she stepped closer and the the old woman looked at her and smile kindly.

"Why," the woman said, "if it isn't the young princess. To what do I owe this great honor?"

"I'm sorry," said the princess. "I saw the light and was curious to who was here… what is that?"

"This?" The woman laughed. "Why it's a spinning wheel! I put the yarn through here and press the peddles to create cloth."

"Truly? I've never seen such a thing." The princess stepped forward, unable to stop herself.

"Would you like to try?" the old woman asked, her smile curling wide on her face. "You simply put your finger here—on the spindle. Go ahead, it won't bite."

The princess reached forward to touch the sharp spindle, but there was an odd warning at the back of her mind and she pulled her hand back. The old woman leapt forward, grasping the princess's wrist, and pressed just the tip of Aurora's finger against the spindle.

"Oh," the princess gasped, her world darkening around her. She collapsed to the floor, hearing the distant rumbling of laughter before she was lost to the world.

The servants found the princess collapsed in an empty hallway, so still and silent that she appeared to be dead. A great wail rose up from the castle as the queen and king realized that they had not been able to protect their dearest daughter. Aurora was put in the highest room within the castle, draped in finery.

So great was their grief, that they begged the good fairies to put them to sleep as well so their daughter might not awaken alone and parentless. The fairies took pity on them and they put the entire castle to sleep. Maids collapsed onto their bundles of laundry, cooks hit the floors of the kitchen, knights slept against their lances. And the castle grew silent.

The fairies called forth a great wall of thorns to surround the castle and all those that inhabited so they would be safe from marauding barbarians. All those who sought entrance to the palace to discover its treasures lost his life on the thorns that protected it.

And so the castle slept, and many years passed, and the legend of the timeless beauty that slept away in the furthest tower was all but forgotten. Aurora remained pale and young, dreaming the dreams the good fairies sent her, of her prince that one would day come to breathe life into her cold lips. And so time went on.

Until the day, a hundred years later, that a young prince named Henry happened upon the thick wall of thorns while journeying the edges of father's kingdom.

Three old, beggar women approached him as the prince stared into the thorns. Was that a tower, just the tip of it, that pointed into the sky?

"Excuse me," he called of the three old women, "what is beyond this forest?"

"Oh, some say nothing," one woman said.

"Other say the last remains of an old witch who locked herself away from people," the second spoke.

It was the youngest who said, "But the truth is that it is a castle that has long slept. Up in yonder tower, lies the sleeping beauty, who awaits true love's first kiss."

"A maiden, you say?" asked Henry.

"A lovely maiden, fairer far than any," the first spoke. "Cast under a deep spell, lonely, dreaming only. For a hundred years, she has remained frozen in time."

"This is unjust!" the prince cried and leapt from his horse, withdrawing his sword. "I shall free this maiden from her curse and see that she gains her life back."

And, without a second glance to the three beggar women, the prince strode forward, ready to caught threw the thrones to rescue the sleeping maiden. But the thorns shifted aside, making way for him, like magick! And the prince came upon the castle, covered in moss, aging from the passing times.

He scoured the castle, stumbling over sleeping servant and guard, climbing countless stairs to reach the tallest tower. He thrust opened the door and stepped inside.

There, lying still and peaceful, was the sleeping beauty. Henry nearly fell to his knees in awe, for as he looked upon her he knew that he would love her. Hastily, he withdrew his hat from his head, dropping it to the floor. He knelt beside the sleeping beauty, gently taking her hand into his own.

Slowly, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss onto the still mouth of the princess, breathing life into her. For a moment, all was silent still.

And then, suddenly, the princess's eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him, recognizing him as the prince from her dreams, the man she was destined to love. And the prince scooped her up into his arms and held her tightly.

Henry and Aurora found that the castle had come to life as soon as the princess had awaken. The king and queen were overjoyed to be reunited with their daughter, and even more so to accept Henry as their son-in-law.

The prince Henry married the beautiful princess Aurora and all come to know her tale. And they all lived happily ever after." 

"But what about the witch who tries to kill the prince?" Vaan demanded. "And the part where the prince stabs her through the heart and races upstairs to rescue the princess while the tower collapses?"

"That's not the real story, Vaan," Penelo snapped at him, throwing out her chin. "I told you, Reks just made that stuff up so you wouldn't get bored with it."

"Well," Vaan pouted, "it was better that way."

"I liked it the way it was," Larsa put in.

"It was a romantic tale," Fran agreed as she stood to claim her sleeping spot against a tree. "And one with a happy ending. A most welcomed story."

"A child's fairytale," Basch muttered, his voice holding just the hint of wistfulness.

Softly, Balthier turned his head to Ashe, saying, "Well, princess, what do you think—"

But she was sound asleep, her head pillowed with the back of her hand, her face serene and peaceful. A lock of pale hair fell across her face as she sighed, her free hand mere inches away from his own.

Without thinking, he reached down and brushed aside the stray lock. Then he blinked and looked up sharply. His eyes met with Fran's, who smirked at him, before looking away again. She said something softly that only Basch could hear, who nodded and announced that they needed to sleep as they would be pushing on after a few hours' rest.

Balthier couldn't seem to take his eyes off Ashe. Such a handful, this one. If only all princesses were docile and sweet as in Penelo's story.

They drifted off to sleep around him. Penelo's head dropped onto Vaan's hip, who had passed out awkwardly on the moss, and Larsa's found an uncomfortable-looking position on her ankle. Basch propped himself up against a tree, his sword resting within the circle of his arms, his eyes drifting shut. Fran stretched out in the spot the other Viera had occupied earlier and quickly fell into slumber.

Ashe rested against at the edge of his blankets, and Balthier didn't have the heart to wake her and send her to her own bedding. Instead, he scooted her more fully onto the blanket and covered her, rubbing his own suddenly gritty eyes.

Then, once more without thinking about it, he reached out and took her small hand in his own. How strange was it, he wondered, that so small and delicate a hand wielded a sword? The princess's fingers were tiny, and smooth, but he could feel the callous on her palm from brandishing her sword.

He sighed and laid himself down beside her. It would be smarted, Balthier supposed, to be lay out in Ashe's bed while she dozed in his… but he didn't feel like moving. And what did it matter to him? It was Ashe who had come to him and had fallen asleep.

With the quiet Wood breathing around him, Balthier closed his eyes and slept, not realizing he still held Ashe's hand.

* * *

**notes:** I love Vaan and Penelo. Vaan because he's a five-year-old in the body of a seventeen year old. And Penelo's just stuck with me. XD I also love Fran, because even though she doesn't talk much, what she says _matters_. And, of course, Ashe and Balthier. Kick-ass princess are an upgrade from my Disney years. And all the best cowboys have daddy issues.

**reviews**

**writer of all:** thanks. At first, I was worried about getting their voices right, but the story actually makes it pretty easy.

**Nightheart:** I think the C.T. might have inspired it. I had to write a thesis paper on it just before I started this series. I also see Penelo as a hopeless romantic, despite the circumstances, and I thought _Sleeping Beauty _fit real well with her.

**Little Miss Cuteness:** fairytales are my cup of tea. I can reread them over and over again and never get bored. That's just how I roll.

**Zaz9-zaa0** Basch _had_ to tell a King Arthur tale. I mean, how could one not? Basch is basically a Knight of the Round Table. He's like Lancelot to Rasler's Arthur. Or something related like that. Plus, he's got the whole upperclass British accent going.

**sharperimage** this story will feature, for the most part, Balthier x Ashe, because it was written for the lj community. But it's also about teams and families, and daddy issues. And angst. Let's not forget the angst.

**Ashelia92** lurker's one of the things I'm good at. XD If it weren't for the fact that everyone in the community is about as crazy as I am, I probably would have stayed a lurker.

**Story Weaver1** I think Balthier just likes to mess with Basch since he's all uptight and crockety. I could really see Ashe getting pissed at Guinevere if Basch had continued to Arthur's tale, since she seems to be the least intolerant for weakness. Vaan and Penelo are just... well, Vaan and Penelo.

**Talim-Hime** thanks. I'm sure Basch grew up on Arthur. It was probably like a drug to him, which would explain why he's got that _honor_ thing going. Crazy, silly Basch.


	3. Ashe's Tale

**disclaimer:** disclaims 

**teaser:** in which fairytales, legends, and sorted mythology are told by knights, pirates, urchins, and princesses to hold off boredom and depression (more or less)

**author's notes:** well, look at that, a reasonable time between updates. Thank you winter vacation. Please don't go away. I need you. Ah, yeah, anyway. Here's the next part, Ashe's tale, which is my absolute favorite fairy tale even though not a lot of people know this one. It's some obsure Norwegian that I've loved since I was like eight. Finally get to use it! XD

* * *

**/the girl who traveled to the ends of the earth to find her prince, as related by Ashe/  
**_(or the retelling of East of the Sun, West of the Moon)  
_  
The Mosphoran Highwaste was even depressing to stand on, Ashe found. Everything just seemed to be dying in it. Even the green foliage had a certain droop to them that made her think of death.

Or perhaps it was because they had only recently passed through Nalbina? Such places made her think of her father, murdered in the very town, and made her think of Rasler, who had often liked to frequent the place for visits.

She was glad that they had not stopped to stay the night. Basch might have sensed her unease with Nalbina and suggested that they at least reach the Highwaste before resting for the pass of night. Vaan had complained predictably and Balthier had cuffed him over the ears and agreed it was best for all.

Strange as it was for Balthier to even agree with Basch, Ashe knew he had done it more her sake than his own. Was she such an open book that they could tell every little emotion about her? It made her uneasy, because though she had come to trust her companions, she wasn't sure how much of her past she liked sharing.

Now Balthier walked beside her as they climbed the last leg of the day's journey. Fran had noticed a cliff off in the distance and had deduced it would be the best place to make the night's camp and so the party trudged onward.

Ever since they had left Mt. Bur-Omisace, the sky pirate had been acting off. It wasn't too noticeable—he still made those snide comments under his breath, and still teased Vaan, and was still easy-going and casual—but Ashe had caught Fran sending him a questioning look every now and again.

And she could tell the difference, too. He would grow thoughtful occasionally, staring into the sky like he was reviewing some distasteful memory. She was careful not to let him know that she noticed those moments of vulnerability, but she looked for them now. Ashe couldn't place her knowledge, but she thought Balthier looked almost… sad.

It had something to do with Archades. There was no doubt about that. Ever since he had offered to show her the way into the imperial capital, he had been like this.

She wanted to ask what it was, what was bothering him. More so, she wanted to _ease_ his burden. Ashe knew what it was like to carry secrets and worries, with no one to share them with. She had been doing so for the last two years, and it was not something she would wish on anyone.

But she couldn't ask it of him. Balthier was Ashe's friend and companion and ally, but to learn of his past… it seemed like a line she could not cross. Her footing was already so unsteady, she couldn't risk yet another slip.

Ashe lowered her head, staring down at her shoes. She wished she could talk to Balthier about her own worries, her own concerns. It had been so long since she had trusted anyone enough to confide in them. She couldn't confide in Basch, even though she knew he was loyal. Their relationship was too different now, too fundamentally changed. She had known him since she had been a little girl, but two years can make any person a stranger again, especially if one was determined to forget the other's existence.

She wanted to tell Balthier though, because she knew he wouldn't tell her that such was the burden of a princess, of a future queen. He'd say nothing, he'd merely let her pour her fear out to him. Listen and nod.

It was a desperate ache in her breast, she wanted to tell him: _I'm scared, I don't know how I'm going to do this. I was never meant to rule._

Balthier turned his head suddenly and looked at her, as if he had felt her eyes. "Something on your mind, princess?" he asked softly, not wanting to bring Basch to attention.

Quickly, Ashe looked away. "No. Sorry. I was just thinking."

The sky pirate sighed and Ashe felt her anger flare up. But she didn't say anything. There was no point in bringing any attention to them. She simply gritted her teeth, glared at the ground, and pressed on.

They climbed up the steep hill to the cliff Fran had pointed out and by the time they finally reached the overhanging, each and every one of them were ready to collapse. Even Basch was panting from exertion, wiping sweat from his brow.

Vaan and Penelo chose a spot closet to the wall and all but dropped into the dust.

For a while they didn't worry about firewood. The sun wouldn't set for a time yet, but they had just been too tired to continue on.

Ashe stood at the edge of the cliff, looking out into the sky. It was wonderful to see the deep blue of the sky, not the desolate browns of the Highwaste. She rubbed her arms, fighting off a sudden chill. She was so tired, but she was wired. There was no way she would be able to sleep.

"I'll collect firewood," she volunteered, needing something to do until she was able to sleep.

"I've got it," Balthier said and was gone before Ashe could offer any sort of token protest.

She glared at his back and nearly went after him, itching for a confrontation, but Fran looked up at her and shook her head softly, watching Balthier's back as he went back down the cliff into the Highwaste.

An hour later, Balthier returned with a bundle of kindling, which he plopped into a messy pile. Fran casually cast a fire spell onto the dry wood and just as night set in, light illuminated them in a small circle.

Balthier hid a yawn behind his hand as he said, "I do believe it's Ashe's turn to tell us a story."

Ashe's eyes widened and she turned her head to glare at him as Vaan and Penelo's eyes fell on her. Balthier grinned slowly at her and Ashe had to admit, mostly to herself, that it was good to see his normal smile on his face.

"You do know a story, don't you?" he asked teasingly.

"Of course I do," Ashe retorted and met eyes with Basch. They smiled at each other, because Basch knew as well as she that she knew a story or two. He had been there when the thick, leather-bound book had been first placed into her young hands. And he had caught her a number times hiding out in an alcove within her palace pouring over the pages.

Balthier looked between them and frowned. "Well, then, prove it."

"What's it about?" Vaan wanted to know from his position against the rocky wall, Penelo curled against his side like a cat, her eyes trained on Ashe. "Is there any fighting?"

"Yes," Ashe answered with a small smile. "Some."

"Well…?" Balthier prompted, making Ashe sigh.

_"Once there was a certain farmer who had many children. But he was poor, this farmer, and they only managed to survive in the barest of ways. But they were happy, because they had each other, and they loved each other very much._

The eldest girl of the farmer was named Eirwyn and where the rest of the family was dark-haired, she was born with hair as pure as icicles in winter. She was wild and would often take to running into the forest without heed of her father's warning. But she was his favorite child, it was well known, and she was a bright light in the household.

Now it came to pass the youngest daughter took ill and the farmer had no way to afford medicine for her. The house became dark and dreary and a deep sadness took over all the children who worried for their sister.

The farmer prayed night and day, prayed for a way to safe his beloved daughter, but he could find none. Until one day, whilst plowing his fields, the farmer felt the earth move beneath his feet. He turned in fear and stared in horror as a white beast approached him, as if appearing through the early morning mist.

It was a bear! A bear whose fur was as white as the purest snow. The farmer turned to run but his feet were rooted to the ground and he could only stare in horror, fearing that his life would now end, that his children would become orphans, and that his poor, youngest child…

"I will heal your child," said the beast, looking into the farmer's eyes through irises the were so dense they were pitch black. "And I will give you riches beyond your wildest imagination."

The farmer thought only of his poor, dying daughter. "What must I do? Oh please, name your price and it shall be done!"

"Your eldest daughter, the whose hair is like that of snow, shall come with me to live in my castle. In three days' time I will come for her," answered the bear.

The farmer could not accept this and, despairing, turned away from the bear. He went home in a foul mood and Eirwyn sensed his unease and questioned him on it. But he could not tell her. For three days he was silent and as night fell upon, Eirwyn implored him one last time to speak on his disheartenment.

"Three days ago, while I worked our fields, a monster came upon me and promised the health of your sister and wealth for our entire family, but the price was you! He comes tonight to collect you and I shall tell him that we cannot be parted. I pray that he will take this answer and be on his way," the farmer explained.

"No, father, I will go." Though her father offered loud protests, Eirwyn persisted, "How else will Sara get well? And we cannot go on living like this. If this is what must be done, then I shall do it and gladly."

No sooner had she spoken the words when a great hush fell upon the house. At once knowing, Eirwyn rose and throw open the door even as her father cried out to her. The hulking mass of the bear stepped inside and paid attention to no one but Eirwyn. Their eyes met, Eirwyn's light eyes and the bear's dark ones.

"Are you afraid?" asked the bear.

"No," Eirwyn answered.

"Then climb onto my back and we shall go." Eirwyn did as she was told and looked back at her father, tears rolling down his cheeks, as he restrained her brothers. She smiled at them, her heart full of love for them all.

Clutching the fur on the back of the bear Eirwyn drifted into sleep. The bear's fur was silky beneath her and kept her warm. Together, she and bear traveled across the land, past rolling green hills and endless water, until white snow covered the ground and a heavy chill settled on Eirwyn's head.

Out of the white came a great castle that seemed to, in the girl's eyes, reach the very top of the sky. Surely the bear could not live here? She expected a cave, where she would have to find her own means to survive.

"Your needs will be seen to," the bear told her simply. "Though you may not see them, there are those to tend you."

"There's no need," Eirwyn said. "I am used to caring for myself." But the bear said no more.

The bear left upon entering the castle and Eirwyn explored on her own. She came to find that the bear was right. Though there seemed to be no one in the castle, when Eirwyn became hungry she found food waiting for her in the kitchen, and when she wished to clean herself, she found a hot bath running in one of the bedrooms.

The night drew in and Eirwyn, at a loss, chose one of the smaller bedrooms as her own. She could not guess which one was meant to be her own, as they were all made as if they expected a guest, but she supposed she was safest with the smallest, since it would stand to reason that the bear would have the largest.

No sooner had she settled on one room than she noticed a shift waiting for her at the foot of the bed. Eirwyn dressed herself for the night and climbed into bed. She drifted into an easy sleep and the lights all around her went dark.

Eirwyn felt herself rouse in the very darkest part of the night, though she was unsure what had disturbed her dreams. She laid perfectly still on her soft bed, hardly daring to breathe. Had she… yes, she had! She had indeed felt another presence in the room. And she knew at once it could not be the bear, for though this was a powerful presence to be sure, the footfalls were gentle and that of a human.

She didn't know what to do. Praying that he would leave, she feigned sleep. Then suddenly the covers on the opposite side of her bed were thrown aside and Eirwyn felt the mattress give under the weight of another person. She heard the deep inhale of his breath as he settled beside her and Eirwyn could not believe… but this man was lying with her!

He—

"Ashe!" Basch cried on a strangled voice, his mouth agape in partial horror.

"You do realize that she was married?" Balthier muttered, mostly to himself, and sent a small smirk Ashe's way.

"Sssh!" Penelo hissed, looking at Ashe imploringly. "It was good. I wanna hear the end. Please, Ashe?" Fran gave a small from beside the girl and inclined her head for Ashe to continue.

"The bear was pretty cool," Vaan told her.

"If you all would just let me go on, you would see…" Ashe began.

"Well, who's stopping you?" Balthier wanted to know, shrugging. "I daresay you've rendered our ever stalwart knight incapable of speaking. He thinks you this wanton, improper creature who spends all her time reading books of a questionable nature."

"I've never—I _would_ never—" Basch stuttered in indignation, glaring at Balthier with intensity. "Forgive me, Ashe, please continue on."

Ashe sighed, throwing her eyes skyward, and then started once more.

_"He said nothing to her, and for some reason Eirwyn could not force herself to speak to him. It felt as though such an act would violate a most important event, though she did not know what. Instead, she hugged close to her own side of the bed and listened as the man's breathing became deep and even._

After the shock of the intrusion of her room dulled, Eirwyn found that the stranger's presence comforted her rather than frightened her. It was a like a warmth settled over her and she was utterly content. His gentle breathing lulled her into sleep and allowed herself to dream happily, the strong, firm presence of the man beside her a true comfort.

When she awoke the next morning, the man was gone. She searched for any sign of him, but it was almost as if she had been visited by a ghost. Eirwyn dressed and cleaned herself before exploring the castle once more.

This time the bear was waiting for her. He said nothing to her, merely bowed his head and allowed her to pass. He followed her as she explored, lumbering at her heels, but once more Eirwyn comforted by his presence. Occasionally, he would speak in a deep rumbling voice, questions about her family or about her contentment in his home. Eirwyn answered this cheerily and found she truly did enjoy talking to the bear.

The days progressed and Eirwyn spent her days in the presence of the bear, and her nights sleeping beside the man. She grew to enjoy her long talks with the bear. He would rest his head on her lap and they would talk for hours on end. And she came to eagerly await her silent bedmate. They both made her feel safe and warm. From the bear she would receive intellectual conversations and from the man she would feel only a sense of serenity.

But for all the joy and happiness Eirwyn had come to feel—and, yes, had come to love—a part of her longed for her home. And as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Eirwyn's heartsickness grew. She worried for her father and for her sisters and her brothers as she had always been a mother to them and her heart ached with yearning for them.

Finally, the bear could not stand to see her silent sadness any longer. "Your grief is mine and I would relieve it. Tell me for what you yearn and I shall see it done."

"Only a little time with my family," Eirwyn said. "I miss them so. And once I had seen them I would return immediately. I truly have no wish to stay from here! I just… I miss them so."

The bear looked into her eyes and sighed with a great sadness. "It will be done as you wish. But promise me that you will not return with any gift from your family. You must enter this castle as you left it."

Eirwyn agreed and the bear returned her to her family for a fortnight. She was pleased to find that her youngest sister had indeed healed from her sickness, and that her father had received a vast amount of wealth in her absence. She assured her family that she was being treated kindly and said that she was quite happy with the bear.

But her father did not believe her. He begged and cajoled her to speak more about the bear and the mysterious man who slept beside her at night. When Eirwyn admitted she had never seen her bedmate, her father became convinced of treachery.

"I have heard rumors of this bear. It is said that he lulls maidens in security and then eats them alive. If you insist on returning to this monster, you must take this candle and match to light and see if indeed you have fallen into the snares of such a beast," said the farmer to his daughter.

The farmer would have none of Eirwyn's protests that such an act was not necessary. He threatened to tie her to her bed if she did not do as he wished. Finally, Eirwyn gave in and when the bear took her back to his castle, she carried against her breast a small candle and a set of matches.

Every night, when the stranger came to lie beside her, Eirywn's fingers would touch the candle that laid under her pillow. But she could not make herself heed her father's wishes. Every night she laid in quiet torment, yearning to look into the face of the man beside her, but unwilling to break the peaceful serenity of the room by filling it with revealing light. Her days with the bear progressed as normal, with conversations and laughter and pure happiness. But she wondered… oh, she wondered!

Then, one night, Eirwyn found she could stand to not know who it was that lay beside her. If indeed this stranger was a troll, Eirwyn would not be upset, but she could no longer stand not to have a face for the presence that she had come to care so deeply for.

So she quietly pulled out her small candle and matches and snuck out of bed. She lit the candle and approached the stranger who slept beside her.

It was a man! A handsome man, who slept innocently—like a child—against the pillow, his hair wild around his beautiful face, his skin only slightly tanned. Eirwyn's heart jolted at his face, as if a part of her finally recognized something she had always been waiting for, and in her shock she had not realized how far she had leaned the candle.

Three drops of the candle's wax dripped down on the man's shoulder as Eirwyn hastily backed away. The man jerked away, gasping in shock and pain. He pressed a hand to his heart, as if it ached, and looked over at her.

"We were so close," he told her sadly. "I was a foolish prince who a troll queen had placed under this curse. If I could not, within five years, find a maiden who would spend a year in the company of a wild bear I was to marry her. And, now, all is lost. I most go now, and accept my… my bride… in the castle East of the Sun and West of the Moon. Forgive me, Eirwyn."

And he was gone. Eirwyn cried after him and raced from the castle as it disappeared around her. She clutched herself in terror, shaking. But only for a moment. Then she shook herself and resolved to free the man she had come to love. She had only one clue, that her prince resided now in a castle east of the sun and west of the moon, Eirwyn walked east in the now desolate lands before her, hoping to happen upon someone who might know the way.

Soon enough, she came upon an old woman playing with a golden apple within her hands. Eirywn approached, and bowed, and asked the old woman if she might know where the castle east of the sun and west of the moon might be. The old woman did not know, but lent Eirwyn a horse to reach a neighbor who might. Then the old woman, having seen the anguish in Eirwyn's eyes, gave the girl her golden apple and wished her speed.

The old woman's neighbor, a mother, also did not know how to reach the castle east of the sun and west of the moon. Unhappy to have no good news for Eirwyn, the mother gave her a golden-comb that she had been using to brush her hair. Then she leant Eirwyn a horse and sent her on her way to meet with another neighbor.

This neighbor, a youthful girl heading to market, also did not know how to reach the castle east of the sun and west of the moon. As Eirwyn slumped in great disappointment, the girl gave her a golden spinning wheel from her cart and told her that the East Wind might know how to reach the castle. She gave Eirwyn a horse to borrow and pointed her in the direction of the East Wind.

When Eirwyn reached the East Wind, the great wind admitted that he did not know where the castle was, but his brother the West Wind might. The East Wind offered to take Eirwyn to the West Wind, to which Eirwyn accepted. But the West Wind did not know, but thought the South Wind might. So the West Wind bore Eirwyn to the South Wind, who also did not know. The South Wind thought the North Wind would know, as it had gone to places so far and distant, and Eirwyn allowed the South Wind to bear her.

"Only once have I ever been to the castle east of the sun and west of the moon. And only to blow a small aspen leaf there, and it took all my strength. However, if it is your wish, I shall take you there," said the North Wind to which Eirwyn told it that she must reach the castle.

So the North Wind blew her to the castle east of the sun and west of the moon. A castle lost in deep snow, inhabited by trolls, and worked by humans who were more dead than alive. Eirwyn became a servant in the castle and spent many nights and days hearing news of the troll queen's marriage to the human prince. After a difficult day in the kitchen Eirwyn took out the golden apple the old woman had given her, thinking to eat it, when the troll queen walked beside her and caught sight of it.

"What will it cost to take this apple from you?" asked the queen. "I must have it."

"I request one night with the lord prince," said Eirwyn.

The troll queen was not so willing, but eventually agreed. However, before the meeting, the troll queen gave the prince a sleeping potion and he rested in a deep slumber. Eirwyn could not arouse him and she returned to her own rooms in the morning without speaking a word to him.

The next day, Eirwyn took out her golden comb and the troll queen came to desire it. The price was once more a night with the prince. And once more, the troll queen gave him a thick sleeping drink, and Eirwyn exchanged not a single word with them.

With the spinning wheel, Eirwyn once more requested a night with the prince. However, by this time, the prince had become suspicious of the troll queen and when she gave him a goblet to drink before going to be, he dumped the contents and only pretended to sleep. This time, when Eirwyn came into his room he leapt from the bed and, recognizing her, embraced her tightly.

"I did not think you would come for me," the prince said.

"But I had to," Eirwyn told him, gripping. "I had to! I—I—"

And he kissed and promised his fidelity to her and her only. He gave her his birth name of Philippe and together they devised a way to escape the troll queen, along with the unjustly imprisoned servants within the castle.

Finally, Prince Philippe came upon an idea. "The shirt on which you spilt the wax. Tomorrow, at the wedding ceremony, I will request that my future wife clean it for me. The trolls use magick only to light their castles, they know nothing of human candles. She will be unable to do this. And then you shall step forward and do it, and so I will marry you."

The next morning, at the very beginning of the wedding ceremony, Philippe withdrew his shirt and made the announcement. Eager, the troll queen stepped forward and tried to wash the wax from the shirt, but found that she did not know how. She screamed in frustration and threw it to the floor.

Eirwyn stepped forward and scooped it up. She calmly washed away the wax and returned it to the prince. Philippe kissed her gently on the mouth.

"I have my wife," Philippe said.

The troll queen realized she had been tricked and flew into a rage. Around her, her castle cracked with her rage and collapsed onto her, her death quick and painless. Philippe and Eirwyn guided the servants from the castle and made their way back home.

Philippe and Eirwyn found her family once more, where they were married. Eventually Philippe returned to his own family and Eirwyn was accepted as his wife. And they lived happily for the rest of their days."

"Wow, Ashe!" Penelo sighed dreamily, clasping her hands. "That was _so_ romantic."

"I liked the part when the castle fell on the troll." Vaan glanced over at Penelo as she threw him a glare. "What? It was cool!"

"I'm surprised you know this tale," Fran told Ashe. "I understand that it is very old, and not often told."

"No. But the book I read it from was old as well," Ashe agreed and she and Fran smiled at one another before the Viera stood to stretch and take a walk around their camp to make sure things were secure.

Basch nodded to Ashe, clearly pleased that there had been nothing improper within the story, and went to help their Viera companion.

"Well, I'm surprised," Balthier drawled, drawing Ashe's attention over to him. "I didn't think you were the 'happily-ever-after' sort of girl, Ashe."

She rolled her eyes. "Every girl wants a happily-ever-after, Balthier."

Balthier looked at her for a moment, and Ashe was truly surprised at how intense it was. She could barely withstand the urge to squirm under his gaze. Just what, she wondered, was he looking for? What did he see in her?

The sky pirate opened his mouth and Ashe sensed that whatever he said would be very bad for them both. But his gaze slid over to Vaan and Penelo and his mouth shut. Ashe breathed a quiet sigh of relief, though she could not begin to say why.

Then Balthier said on a small exhale of breath, "I suppose you have a point, princess. What person doesn't want to live their life as well as he can? But life isn't always fairytales and enchantments."

"Yes, I know that." Ashe turned away and looked into the fire.

"But sometimes, I'm quite pleased you only find such things in books and legends." Balthier gave a small laugh. "Life tends to be a bit more interesting without them."

Ashe blinked and looked over at him. Balthier was smiling at her. Not his normal smile—without that hint of mockery behind it, without his endless confidence and arrogance, a smile that seemed to cover up so much of him. No, this was guileless. This was Balthier, simply smiling at Ashe, because she was Ashe and he was Balthier.

And the strangest thing was, she returned it. "I suppose. You do have a point, Balthier."

Balthier lifted a hand to salute her. "But don't I always?"

* * *

**note:** if any of you have ever actually heard of this tale before, points to you, because it's really, really old and no one ever reads it. It made me sad as a young girl. Oh well.

**reviews**

**Zaz9-zaa0** I can imagine dealing with a young Vaan was very easy for Reks. He has all my pity. If he had to add a little blood and gore to keep the boy entertained... well... I can't fault him. XD Penelo though, being a girl, doesn't have to humor Vaan and his boyish ways. I think that's why I like them both so much. They contrast each other nicely.

**RoyalFanatic** hey, if you don't like Balthier/Ashe, that's no problem. You won't get any grief from me, I assure you. I don't like Balthier/Fran, but I see how it works and I don't bash. XD This was intended to be a short Balthier/Ashe shot for the lj community, that spawned into something completely deffierent. What can I say? And you'll find out who gave Ashe the book. Yes, you will.

**NebThauDragmire** well, you know Balthier. He likes to leave us in suspense. His tale will be here soon!

**Fade to Blue** I know I certainly love fairytales. I grew up on them, and it's awesome that I can to present them in such a way. And, yes, this was definately inspired the Chaucer's work. Those research papers finally paid off, huh?

**sharperimage** lol, it wasn't really much of a hint for Basch/Ashe (though I do think there is some unrequired affection on Basch's side), Ashe doesn't really fit the rule of Guinevere in my mind, and especially since I see FFXII as more Star Wars than Camelot. You know Balthier as Han Solo (super!yummy) and Ashe as Princess Leia, Vaan as Luke Skywalker, Basch as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Penelo as like, I dunno, R2-D2. Actually, Vaan's like some annoying combination of Luke Skywalker and C-3P0. He gets the worst of both characters. Argh. ...wow, it's so easy to hate on Vaan.

**Story Weaver1** Vaan never fails to amuse me either. I think that's why I abuse him so much. It's funny. Poor Vaan. I wonder if he like... becomes mature in FFXII: Reverent Wings? LOL. Ah, forget that. It _impossible_. 


	4. Vaan's Tale

**disclaimer:** disclaims

**teaser:** in which fairytales, legends, and sorted mythology are told by knights, pirates, urchins, and princesses to hold off boredom and depression (more or less)

**author's notes:** okay, here we go. Vaan's tale. This outta be fun, right. In case you didn't know, I think I had better warn you before hand, I am not Vaan's biggest fan. There's something about his lack of shirt and girlish feature that make me... ick. Yeah. Ick. I believe Balthier shares my opinion, even though he kinda likes the boy like a much older brother likes his younger brother... until said younger brother asks to borrow aformentioned elder brother's car to the prom.

* * *

**/the man who killed a beast, saved a mother, and earned a country, as related by Vaan/  
**_(or the retelling of Perseus)_

It fell to Basch and Fran to clear out the Malboro Kings haunting the old ruins on top of the hill as Balthier hauled Vaan by the cuff of his vest to the small pond to clean the boy off. Vaan was of no use to himself as the sticky sap that had been sprayed upon him by one of the many fiends of the Tchita Uplands made him feel as if he was on fire and caused him to only run around screaming his head off in pain.

And, of course, this only distressed Penelo who couldn't get a hold on Vaan with all his jerky movements. Eventually, Ashe suggested she and Penelo collect kindling to help calm the girl down.

Now Balthier held a squirming Vaan under the water to rinse off the mire covering the boy. He only allowed Vaan to put his head above water for a few moments before he thrust him back into the icy wet. The sap on him reeked.

"Bloody idiot. Told him to pivot didn't? Stands there like he has no clue what I'm talking about," Balthier muttered to himself as Vaan flailed his arms in protest under the water. "Ought to just tie him to a tree and let him wallow in pain. Teach him a lesson, won't it?"

Balthier loosened his hold and Vaan came up for air, gasping wildly as he shivered and flailed in the water. "Balthier—" he started to shout.

But Balthier was already dunking him back under. In truth, the boy had stopped smelling now… but Balthier was a small enough person to take enjoyment in abusing the boy. Ashe had already told him under no conditions was he to pistol-whip the whelp, so a man had to take his pleasure where he could.

Finally Balthier got tired of struggling with Vaan and let him go completely. Vaan pushed his head through the water and thrashed around a bit as Balthier stood and ringed out his cuffs. With wet, blonde hair dripping into his eyes Vaan looked at him a little wearily.

"If you've now reached your quota for idiocy, may we return to camp?" Balthier asked and the bite in his voice was enough to make even Vaan wince, as dense as he was.

"I didn't do it on purpose, Balthier," Vaan groused as he pushed himself to his feet and sloshed over to Balthier. He grinned sheepishly as Balthier eyed the cold water that was splashed onto his breeches at the boy's approach.

"Oh, you never do, do you?" Balthier muttered and started toward the hill. Vaan huffed behind him, sounding tired and put out. The feeling was mutual.

Halfway up the hill, Balthier noticed Penelo and Ashe and he and Vaan waited for them. Penelo dropped her bundle of wood and rushed over to Vaan, seemingly unwilling to accept that Balthier had seen Vaan healed.

Giving a long sigh, Balthier started back down the hill to help Ashe collect Penelo's kindling.

"Well, at least, she'll stop pacing and biting her nails now," Ashe said simply, nodding her head in thanks as Balthier scooped up the wood on the grassy floor. Her smile was fleeting, but at least it was there.

Since he'd told her about his father, Ashe had been much more open with him. He supposed because he had shown a level of trust in her, she returned the favor. Their little chats came easier now, and Ashe was less willing to walk off in a huff.

Honestly, he had no idea why he told her about Cid. He never told anyone save Fran, and then only the barest details. And then they'd never talked about him again. But Ashe would casually ask about Cid—did he ever get this far out when he lived with his father? What ever happened to his mother?—and… well… he told her.

Together they started back up to their camp. A line of sweat rolled down the side of Ashe's face, and Balthier sympathized. For all Dalmasca was hot, it was a dry heat, with little or no humidity. The Tchita Uplands were _hazy_ with their humidity. And, unlike Dalmasca, it would not cool with nightfall.

He didn't ask if she was alright, though, because he knew Ashe well enough to know that she'd see it as an insult on her character. Instead, he merely glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, just in case she should collapse. Not that Ashe would allow such a weakness.

Ashe released a small breath of air she had been holding and Balthier knew the sun was getting to her. That was one of Ashe's problems. She never tanned, she burned. Her skin was a healthy color, but it never browned, never seemed to gain any sort of resistance from the sun. Three weeks ago she had caught a nasty sunburn all along her arms and only a few days ago had the blisters finally left her skin.

She groaned again, but softly, trying to muffle it. Balthier kept his eyes ahead of him, even though he wanted to look back.

_Well_, Balthier thought, a little sour, _she won't have to worry about the sun for very long. Soon we'll be in the Sochen Cave Palace._

Who have thought he'd be _willingly_ going back to Archades? Even with a cause like this under his belt. And he knew that the minute he stepped into Old Archades the whispers would begin to circle like a brushfire. He might be able to get through, for the most part, unrecognized but only if they hurried. He wasn't holding his breath.

Behind him, Ashe stumbled but quickly regained her balance.

"How long until we reach Archades?" Ashe asked, a little breathless.

He must have been half mad, but the sound of that tone of her voice made a pleasant feeling settle in Balthier's stomach. "Once we reach the Cave Palace, only two days or so. But the path is more than a little dangerous, many a weary traveler met a dark end there, but it's our best option for getting into Archades undetected."

"I believe we're all more than capable," Ashe pointed out.

"Oh, yes," Balthier was quick to reply. "Because Vaan's proven himself, hasn't he?"

"He tries. Maybe a little too hard, but at least he's eager." Balthier felt Ashe eyeing his back. "You seem content to complain about most things."

Balthier glanced at her over his shoulder. "A man must find something to take up his time, princess. Babysitting an overeager child with a knack for causing those around him nothing but trouble tends to strain one's nerves."

"He reminds me… a bit of my brother," Ashe told him softly. "They were all older than me, but Trian was less than a year my senior and I tended to take on the role of the elder sibling. He loved war stories also."

He resisted the urge to tell her to go on. Silly of him, being so interested in her. But it was so easy to imagine her surrounding by fair-haired siblings. All of them would tend to be a little overprotected of her, but that was predictable. And, besides, Ashe learned to take care of herself despite all that, hadn't she?

"You miss him," Balthier guessed, wondering about the tone of his voice.

"I haven't thought of them in so long," Ashe admitted. "Disease took some away when I was young, then the war took the rest. Trian rode out with… it was Rasler who sent him home to us, promising to avenge him."

"You know, as a boy, I always wished I had older brothers and younger sisters. You're fortunate to have grown up with them."

"Yes."

They fell into a companionable silence. What would Fran say if she knew that Balthier took a particular enjoyment in talking to Ashe? There was something about the way she spoke, the way she measured each word, and each angle, as she said them. And there was something about the way she didn't do that with him.

At the camp they had set up, Fran was scouring for any straggling fiends and Basch was cleaning off his bloody sword. Vaan lay beside him on the grass, scratching at his irritated skin. Penelo glanced over at him every now and again, but she had moved from the "worried" stage to the "annoyed" stage.

Balthier slowed his steps to let Ashe get in front of him. She dropped her wood into the rustic circle someone had drawn—Basch, probably, the man had a terrible hand for writing or drawing—as a perimeter for the night's fire.

As Ashe went to take some water from their supply, Balthier set up the kindling. He considered casting a fire spell, but he was quite bad at magick and simply stood and walked away. Fran would deal with it.

He set up his blankets for the night, pleased that he wouldn't have to deal with a tent. He either roomed with Basch or Vaan, and Basch snored terribly while Vaan thrashed about as if he was being strangled. Balthier got no sleep and usually rose the next morning with a bitter disposition and gritty eyes.

Within minutes Ashe was setting up her own across from him. She looked about ready to fall on her own face. He watched as her eyes drooped forward before she purposely snapped them back open. It made him want to shake his head. If the girl was tired, she should lay down.

Penelo made soothing noises beside him as she rubbed at Vaan's irritated arm, stifling a yawn behind her hand.

Balthier reached up and worked at a kink in his neck. "So, I've decided." Everyone's attention was drawn to him. "What Vaan's punishment will be."

Vaan eyed him wearily and Balthier lifted a brow. Had the boy finally caught on to his little schemes? It seemed so. Not that Balthier hated Vaan, but the boy made it too easy. But, apparently, he could be taught.

"But it wasn't really his fault, was it?" Penelo asked softly.

"Now, now, Penelo. A man must take his dues for his actions."

"Balthier," Ashe began warningly.

He turned his smile onto her and Ashe merely frowned at him. "Would you mind terribly if I finished? Vaan, tonight, I think you should be the one to "fascinate" and "enthrall" us with a thrilling tale of yours. And I use those terms lightly."

"Oh, Balthier… but does he _have_ to?" Penelo asked, gnawing slightly on her bottom lip.

"Hey!" Vaan cried, indignant, whipping his head around to face her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your stories are just awful!" Penelo burst out. "They never have any happy endings, and someone's always fighting someone else and… and, the heroes aren't even good in the end!"

"What? Of course they were good. Achilles—"

"Was a jerk. And so was Agamemnon. And all the other guys you talk about."

"They weren't jerks! They were _warriors_," Vaan huffed, kicking at the ground with the tip of his boot. "Besides, it's my turn, isn't it?"

"Fine." Penelo turned her head around, her lips working into a pout. "But it can't be one about war."

"But, Penelo—"

"Vaan," Basch said, sounding as if he was dragging patience into his voice by its hair. "Either tell a story or allow us all to get some sleep."

"Whatever story you choose will be fine, Vaan," Ashe added helpfully.

Fran nodded her agreement. "Any story is better than silence. We will listen."

"Hmm… alright! I got it!" Vaan pumped his hand triumphantly in the air. "And, _no_, it doesn't have any war… okay, it doesn't have much war. But it's a good story."

"Do you mind getting on with it?" Balthier asked. "I'd like to sleep."

_"A long time ago, many gods ruled over our planet. And the king of the gods was called Zeus. One day, he feel in love with a mortal girl and they became lovers—"_

"You know what that means, Vaan? I'm shocked."

Ashe glared at him. "Balthier," she hissed and he shrugged.

_"But the girl's father had visited the oracle before and the oracle had told him that if his daughter had a son, he would one day kill him. So the king locked up his daughter in a tower, but Zeus visited her there in the form of a golden shower and soon the girl became pregnant. _

Since only Zeus could be the boy's father, the king could not kill either his daughter or her baby. So he locked them in a thick, wooden chest and cast them into the sea, so it would be Poseidon's—lord of the sea—fault.

But Zeus ordered Poseidon to save the girl and the baby and the sea carried them to a small island far away.

There an elderly fisherman found her and invited her to live with him. The girl accepted and raised her son, who she named Perseus, into a young man. He was a fine swordsman, skilled with all weaponry he handled, and a famed rider and hunter. But he always wished to go off his island, though his mother had forbidden him.

One day, his mother caught the eye of the king of the small island, the brother of the fisherman who had offered the mother and son a home. He desired to marry her, but she refused to leave her son in case he needed her. So the king devised a way to disgrace Perseus and force him to stay away from the island.

The king of the small island announced that he would be marrying another woman, a fabled tamer of horses, and to win her heart he would hold a banquet, where each guest would present a horse. Perseus was poor and had no horse to give.

"I am your king," said the king. "And I must marry to insure that the wealth of our people continue. How am I to do so if my men will not aid me? Are you not some "prince"? Have you no honor, no shame?"

And so the king berated Perseus again and again, insulting him and his poverty. Perseus before had never regretted his lack of his wealth, but on this day he did.

"I will give you the greatest gift you have ever received!" Perseus shouted when he could stand it no more. "I will give you the head of the Medusa!"

The Medusa was a hideous monster, said to be cursed by the goddess of love, and any man who hunted her wound up dead, their blood seeping out from their very pores. No one had reached the home of this creature and returned alive.

The king was pleased and announced that he would accept nothing less than this promised gift. If Perseus was to return without the Medusa's decapitated head tied to his belt, he would be disgraced and outcast from the island.

So Perseus packed his meager belongings and set to the mainland, despite his mother's weeping. He had no hope of finding the Medusa, but he still refused to give up. His sword, he swore to those he met, would taste the Medusa's deadly blood! He would slaughter this monster and glory and honor would be his.

Finally, after many weeks of warning, the children of Zeus intervened. Zeus had seen his son wander and deemed that two of his children, Hermes and Athena, should help. So the two went to earth and gave Perseus gifts to aid him.

From Athena he was got a shield made of the smoothest, clearest metal and from Hermes he got a sword that could slice through solid stone. They told him to find the Hesperidea, on the island Hesperides, and to ask the wild nymphs where the Graeae, sisters of the Medusa, lived. The nymphs told him, but only after Perseus promised to come back and dance.

Perseus made a long journey to the cave of the Graeae, three, old blind women who shared one eye that could see into the feature. Perseus stole their eye and held away from them as they scrambled helplessly on the floor, reaching for it.

"Tell me where the Medusa lies and you can have your eye back!" Perseus called and the old crones shrieked at him. "Tell me where she is, hags! And tell me what I need to defeat her or I'll crush your eye beneath my foot!"

The Graeae told him the secret of Hades' cap, which allowed its wearer to turn invisible, a satchel that could hold anything without tearing, and a pair of sandals that would allow him to fly across the land. Once Perseus had acquired these—collected deep in the crones' cave—they told him how to reach their sister.

With this knowledge, Perseus flew across the ocean to a distant island where the deadly Medusa resided. He wore the Hades' cap and passed the island's many monster guardians and reached the inner sanctum of the monster.

But there was a problem! The legend of the Medusa went that any many who looked upon the creature would be turned to stone. And Perseus saw this was true as countless stoned bodies lined the walkways, their faces twisted into screams of horror and pain.

As he entered the Medusa's lair, he lifted his shield and looked only through it. He saw no trace of the monster, not of the hideous snakes in her hair, or the rattle of the end of her body as she slithered like a worm across—

CRACK!

Perseus's head jerked back as his cap went flying off. He had forgotten that Hades' cap made him invisible, not silent. He pivoted to the left to avoid a deadly swipe of talons and rolled, careful to look only into his shield.

The Medusa coiled on him, her face twisted in a permanent mask of rage. Her long fingernails, filled with snake venom, were lifted to strike him. An inhuman hiss escaped her lips as she descended on him…

…Perseus swung his sword in a backward arch, never looking away from his shield. His sword found its mark and sliced clean through the Medusa's neck, blood spraying all over the floor, steam rising from it like acid eating away flesh.

The heavy body of the Medusa fell at Perseus's feet, blood pouring out from her gaping neck, eating at the stone. The end of the monster's body twitched, once, twice, and was still for all of time.

Her head went sailing through the air, spinning in a wheel of blood and guts, and hit a pillar hard. It crashed to the floor, the Medusa's eyes wide and horrified, still trying to freeze her enemies in her gaze, her pointed teeth bared, and her face contorted in rage.

The rank stench of death filled the air and Perseus relaxed his shield arm, pointing his sword at the ground and shaking off the blood from his defeat foe. Already, the Medusa's blood had begun to slicken the floor and its sticky red— 

"Vaan!" Penelo shouted, clasping two hands to her mouth. "Stop that!"

"What?" Vaan said defensively, hitching a shoulder. "It's how the story goes. Be—besides! That's the best part!"

"Ew. It's gross, Vaan! You can skip that stuff!"

"Why should I? You didn't skip all that kissy-kissy goo-goo gross stuff."

"It wasn't gross. It was romantic!"

"Exactly, gross!"

"What I'm most amazed at," Balthier cut in smoothly, causing the two children's heads to turn in his direction. "Is Vaan's vocabulary. Astonishingly, really."

"Thanks, Balthier!" Vaan said, pleased to be praised by the pirate, and looked at Ashe in confusion when she tried to smooth laughter behind her hands. "Ashe? What is it? Are you alright?"

Ashe's eyes slid across to Balthier's and held. "O—oh," she said when her voice was steadier. "I'm fine, Vaan." She sent Balthier a look, who just grinned cheekily at her.

"Vaan, why do you not finish the story?" Fran asked, taking the moment to bring the boy's attention away from Balthier before Vaan caught on to the fact that he had been insulted rather than complimented and caused even more problems.

"What? Oh. Right."

_"Perseus placed the severed head of the Medusa into his satchel and used the flying sandals to leave Medusa's liar. With the head of the hideous beast now locked around his waist, no monster dared to attack him. _

As Perseus flew back to his island to present his gift, he flew over a country named Ethiopia where he saw a woman chained to a large stone by the sea. Curious, he flew down to her and asked her name. She replied that she was called Andromeda and related to him her sad tale.

She said that she was the daughter of the king and queen of the country and that her mother had boasted that she was more beautiful than the goddess of love. The land then was attacked by a horrible beast, called the Ceto, and could not be held back. An oracle announced to the king that his land would have no peace until his daughter was sacrificed to the Ceto and the gods were appeased.

With no other choice, Andromeda's father did as he was told.

Perseus could not stand for this and he flew high above the girl, taking from his satchel the head of the Medusa. From the water rose the horrid Ceto, but as it opened its massive mouth, Perseus thrust the head of the Medusa at it and it froze in horror, crumbling to stone.

He freed Andromeda from her chains and the king and queen were so pleased to have her alive, that they both agreed that Perseus would be given her hand in marriage and would one day be king of their country. Perseus agreed to this, but only after he returned to his home and collected his mother.

So he bid Andromeda farewell and returned to his island, where he learned from the fisherman who had looked after him and his mother, that his brother—the king—had forced Perseus's mother to marry him. Perseus, realizing he had been tricked all along, rushed to the palace just as the wedding ceremony began.

"Mother, shield your eyes!" Perseus shouted and his mother obeyed as he withdrew the head of the Medusa and turned all traitors in the room into stone.

Perseus made the fisherman king of the island and took his mother away to live with his wife Andromeda. There they lived happily for many years.

Then, one day, shortly after Andromeda had given birth to their first son, Perseus traveled to Argos to participate in the annual games. It was in the discus throw that Perseus lost his footing and sent his disc flying into the crowd. A man screamed and collapsed to the floor, the disc lodged between his eyes.

Perseus, guilty, went to see the old man, and gently wiped the blood that covered his face away. He yanked the discus out and buried it with the man's body on the pyre. He regretted his actions deeply and vowed never to play again in the games. He then returned to Ethiopia and ruled long with Andromeda.

What he never knew was that the old man he had killed was his grandfather, the Oracle's prophecy fulfilled at last. 

"That was… surprisingly good," Basch said after a long pause, looking generally surprised.

Vaan sent a triumphant look at Penelo. "See? Told you."

Penelo pouted and crossed her arms. "It wasn't good at all. What about Andromeda? You didn't say anything about her. Did Perseus love her or not? Did she love him?"

"Well, I guess so." Vaan shrugged. Obviously, he hadn't given the notion much thought. "I mean, they got married and had a bunch of kids, right?"

"Oh, Vaan! You don't understand _anything_!"

The two broke into loud bickering while Basch threw his eyes heaven for mercy and Fran lowered her head to hide her chuckle. The campfire crackled and snapped, illuminating them all.

Restless, Balthier stood and walked off into the cover of the darkness. He felt Fran's eyes on his back, questioning him silently, but Balthier knew the set of his shoulders told her without words that he didn't wish to company.

But, soon enough, there were gentle footfalls behind him. _Ashe_. And, surprisingly, Balthier found that her presence was not unwelcomed. He rather liked having her at his side. She had such fire, such will and determination, it could keep a man warm all his life or burn him alive. Both were not unpleasant thoughts.

They stood side by side, looking up into the moon. Balthier felt Ashe's eyes snake to his form every now and again, but she remained silent save for her quiet breathing.

He knew what she wanted to ask him. _Are you thinking about your father?_ But Balthier had made it a habit of not thinking about the man for nearly six years. And on most days he succeeded, except for the days when he didn't.

So he was thankful when she asked, instead, "How many days until we reach the Caves?"

"One, maybe one and a half. We're not far off, so long as Vaan doesn't drag us back to that damn hunter's camp." Balthier looked over at her with a lifted brow. "Suppose tomorrow you won't be so inclined to bend to his every whim?"

"He's but a child," Ashe said, and Balthier didn't mention that she was barely two years his senior. "He and Penelo. How can we deny them what happiness they may find?"

"He's not your brother, Ashe."

"Yes. I know that. That's not it at all." Ashe shook her head, quickly correcting herself. "Or that isn't it anymore. Just look at them, Balthier. Can you ever remember being the innocent?"

No. He couldn't. "Can you?"

"I remember being that happy," was all she said.

Silence stretched again. Filled with heavy memories. Balthier broke it by saying, "Vaan and Penelo will have plenty to do once we reach Archades. If we're lucky."

"If we're lucky?" Ashe looked over at him, raising a haughty brow.

"Didn't you ever think to question why it's so easy to enter Archades through the Caves?" Balthier shrugged. "They're their own protection. I can count the number of adventurers who were known to escape the mazes alive on my right hand. And most of those were just stories…"

Stories told on his father's knee, his wise, old voice light with humor at his eagerness to hear the rest. More. More. _More_. And remembering those things about his father, and knowing what kind of man he was today, made a sour taste rise in Balthier's throat.

He felt the solid warmth of a hand on his arm and looked down into Ashe's eyes. There was no pity there—and thank Father for that—but a simple understanding that rocked him.

Then she blinked and quickly dropped her hand, looking away. Balthier did nothing for a moment, merely looked at her, before he reached out and encircled her wrist and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

They stood side by side once more, not touching, just standing there. Then Ashe said softly that it was growing late and Balthier agreed and they headed back to camp, to find that even stalwart Basch dozed, only opening his eyes slightly as they returned before snoozing once more.

Ashe settled onto her cot beside Penelo and Vaan and Balthier took a moment's pause to watch her. She felt the heat of his eyes and quickly raised her own.

She smiled at him, a full, blooming smile, and one that Balthier had never really seen on her face before. Not a truly happy Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca before and he couldn't stop himself from returning it.

Just before he went to sleep, Balthier admitted to himself he might be in trouble here.

* * *

**note:** yeah, I guess you can see which pairing I'm leaning towards now, right. XD We've only got Fran and Balthier's chapters left. Not surprisingly, they've been holding out on us. Bad sky pirates!

**reviews**

**Zaz9-zaa0:** I got the feeling that Ashe tends to live her life like _300. _I'm sure she likes to escape to a 'happily ever after' world every now and again. Where Prince Charming (read: Rasler) lives with his lady love for the end of his days and after he slays the dragon there is not more problems, like war and political upheavel. But that's just my evalution of her. I also love the whole relationship of Basch and Ashe. I don't view in romantic terms, but I think Basch took care of Ashe when she was younger and he's probably gone through his life thinking that Ashe never really find out what sex was all about. Or he'd have to bust some heads. XD

**Fade to Blue: **yeah, I enjoyed the tale, but there was a lot of work that it required. Plus, we only read the boring one like the Monk/Priest's tale or the Nun's tale. We never got to read the Knight's Tale or the Wife of Bath's tale, which are the best two in the entire collection. As for Ashe's Tale, elements of it have been taken and used in many others. You'll see bits of it in Beauty and the Beast, and pretty much every other fairy tale out there. I think there was an actual movie of it, a while ago, and I know that Edith Plauo or something wrote an entire novel for retelling.

**Withdrawn:** well, this is ended to hint at Balthier/Ashe, but the larger focus is actually on Ashe and Balthier seperately as people, and how the whole team acts throughout the journey. I felt the FFXII didn't really focus on the character interactions of the team enough, so I kind of put this in to fill the holes. I believe throughout the course of the journey, they all beame something like family to one another. Plus, Balthier tells Ashe about his father. He must have felt close to her to reveal something Fran only seems to know.

**Emily:** poor, Basch. I torture him so. XP And, yes, Vaan definately went with something that had a lot of violence in it. I couldn't use "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" for his story because it doesn't fit into the whole fairy tale/myth/legend genre. For a while I was going to him tell the tale of the fight between Beowulf and Grendel's Mother, but Beowulf really requires too much knowledge to tell just one part of it. Plus, Persus seemed to fit him better. As for Balthier's tale. We'll just have to see.

**Talim-Hime:** I could actually see Penelo going, "Isn't that romantic, _Vaan_?_ Huh_!? Hint, hint. Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink." And Vaan being all "Bawuh? Whosit?" And Larso meekly saying, "Penelo, I'll be your Prince Charming." Poor Larso. Penelo will catch on eventually. I find Vaan and Penelo easier to write than Ashe, but I like Ashe more. There just seems to be more to Ashe than two kids. Maybe that's why I kept trying to make all my fics in Ashe's POV. So I can get her down right.

**Story Weaver1:** 'East of the Sun, West of the Moon' seems to be a combination of Beauty and the Beast and Cupid and Psyche. I think it has a lot of do with the oral tradition. Cupid and Psyche got passed up all the way to Norway, and the story was giving a more tribal flare, and then it was passed down some more. And the viola! Beauty and the Beast!

**Feeny:** I think, deep down, I might like Vaan, too. But it's embarrassing so I cover up my like with sheer disgust. Poor Vaan. It's not him, it's me. XD Anyway, I liked Ashe/Balthier right off the bat. They seemed to have more chemistry than Fran and Balthier together, or Ashe with Basch _or _Vaan. With Balthier and Fran I got a whole Han and Chewie feel, and with Ashe and Vaan I got a whole "I miss my younger brothers" feeling, and from Ashe and Basch I just got Basch going over and over again, "Ashe has never had sex, of course. I'm sure she and Rasler were just playing board games for that year of their marriage!" But I'm weird.


	5. Fran's Tale

**disclaimer:** I own nothing

**teaser:** in which fairytales, legends, and sorted mythology are told by knights, pirates, urchins, and princesses to hold off boredom and depression (more or less)

**author's notes:** sorry this is a little late you guys. A combiantion of the flu and Best Buy being a real bitch about taking it's sweet ass time fixing my computer kept me from updating. I am sad. But at least it's hear, right?

* * *

**/the quiet woman who feared that she could never grow to love, as related by Fran/  
**_(or the retelling of Rhiannon)_

"Ashe, we must rest," Basch spoke. And if it was Basch that was demanding a break, then the whole party was virtually dead on their feet. Basch was always the last one of them to tire… usually.

This time, Ashe frowned at him. "But cannot we not press on? Just a bit further?"

"Not all of us are numb from the waist down," Balthier snapped at her and dropped his gun to the ground. "I'm not moving another inch until I've had a decent period to rest."

"Oh please, Ashe!?" Penelo cried weakly, all but slumped across Vaan, who could barely hold himself upright, a line of sweat rolling down the side of his face.

"The Feywood drains us the further on we move into the roiling Mist. We must proceed with caution," Fran said, and Fran knew as the Feywood was the sister forest to the Golmore Jungle.

"Only for a little while, Ashe," Basch tried to placid her.

She wanted to scream at them all. Didn't they _understand_? She had seen _Rasler_! In the forest, just as the Mist reached its peek, and it had looked as if they could go no further, hadn't Rasler appeared to open the way? It was bad enough that that plant creature had delayed them from chasing after his spirit, but now they were to _rest_?

And this snowy substance on the ground… how could this still be part of the Feywood? It look and felt as snow—which she remembered with a trace of disgust from Mt. Bur-Omisace—but it lacked the frigid cold from the mountain. It had no _temperature_. In fact, had it not been so starkly white and imposing, it would have felt like nothing at all.

"We can't delay here," Ashe protested instantly, her whole body wired to _go_. How could she stand here, talking calmly and rationally? "We have almost reached Giruvegan. Who knows what Cid—"

"Oh, lay off it," Balthier said, his voice meaner than it had been in weeks. "This isn't exactly your stroll through an Archades garden, princess. And these monsters are no springtime petunias. We mortals need _rest_."

Hurt battered her already bruised heart. To hear that insulting, mocking tone from him… it hurt her, deeply. She just wanted to find Rasler, to chase him. She couldn't even claim that she missed him anymore—that sad truth of it was that while worry and war were cold bedmates, they were constant companions.

And in truth, what she had had with Rasler had been so young, so fledgling. It should have grown into something strong and stable, would have, had war not torn it asunder. But the affection, the fondness, the admiration she had had for him upon their marriage hadn't had the chance to go further than that. And Ashe was sure it would have, and she mourned that loss the most.

What would Rasler think—what would Rasler say?—if he knew that her mind and eyes lingered on Balthier more than either should? She already knew what Basch thought, and had an inkling from Fran's cautious looks Balthier's way, but what would Rasler say?

Is that way she chased him, seeking answers that only he could give her? She didn't know. All she knew is that she would chase Rasler to the ends of the earth to have one more chance to speak with him again.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered, what she did or didn't feel for Rasler. What she did or didn't for Balthier. She would go simply because he was Rasler. And her happiest times had been with him.

"How are we going to start a fire?" Penelo asked worriedly, her voice nearly lost over the roar of the wind. "It doesn't look like there's anything that we can use as firewood."

"We will not need to start a fire," Fran told her. "It does not grow dark here, nor cold, and a fire would only attract more monsters to our camp."

"This place is horrid," Basch murmured. "No wonder no one dares trespass through here. This place is designed to confuse and entrap all."

Ashe looked over at Balthier, but his face was unreadable.

Was he angry at her? Or the situation? He had gotten better after the confrontation with his father, slightly—he had seemed to solidify in his mind that the man wasn't the father who had raised him. But since she had seen Rasler…

He looked over at her and their eyes met. Something hot and dark burned in his and she looked away quickly.

It wasn't any business of his anyway. If she wanted to chase after the ghostly apparition of her dead husband, who was he to make her feel guilty for it? Why _should_ she feel guilty? Not that she did, but why would…

Frustrated she bit her lip and felt her fingers close into fists. "We cannot linger here long—"

"We'll stay as long as necessary," Balthier said, and even Vaan caught the note of anger in his voice. "You need to realize, princess, that it's just not you traipsing off into this forsaken place."

Ashe's mouth fell open and the whole party seemed to suddenly tense. They had all had slight disagreements before, but the one before them now threatened to explode into a full-fledged fight. And between Ashe and Balthier no less. The two had always seemed to… set one another off before, but…

"Balthier—" Basch began, surprised to find that he was not necessarily on Ashe's side, but was not willing to sit through an argument between the two.

"No, Basch. You can't go around letting her get her way," Balthier said, looking over at the knight with an unreadable expression. "We're all tired and ready for a short break. She's not our leader."

"You can just go!" Ashe told him in a low, dangerous tone. Her neck flushed soon after the words were said, but she didn't stop herself. "You can leave, Balthier. What's stopping you? I—I certainly don't need you."

"You wouldn't blink if I left?" the sky pirate shot back, his voice even and pleasant as he shoved one hand into his pocket. He pulled out the silver ring, dangling on the tip of his index finger. "Even though I still haven't return this?"

Her breath caught and she turned away sharply, her hair whipping around her face.

"Ashe, are you—" Vaan began hesitantly, walking over to her to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Balthier grabbed it and shoved it back to the boy's side. "Let her alone, Vaan. Some things a person has to learn."

Ashe's shoulders stiffened and without any warning to the rest of her party she walked forward swiftly, almost immediately swallowed up in the swirling snow. Basch cursed and called after her, moving to follow and Balthier snagged him by his shoulder.

"You'll just make it worse. I'll get her," Balthier pointed out and quickly followed after the princess, not bothering to call out after her.

"Ashe, come back!" Penelo cried, looking a little shaken by the sudden deterioration of their team. She went to follow Balthier, Vaan at her heels, when Fran reached out and gently shook her head.

"It is the Mist," Fran lied easily. "It makes us all tense and weary." She looked over at Basch and their eyes met, similar thoughts passing between them. "They must work this out themselves. Sit. I will tell a story until they return."

"Bu—but should we?" Penelo whispered, looking down at her staff that she twirled nervously in her hands. "Without Balthier or Ashe?"

"They won't mind." To make a show of it, Basch sat and waited patiently for Vaan and Penelo to follow his example.

"Balthier shouldn't have said what he did to Ashe," Vaan grumbled as he plopped himself down beside Basch.

"They both say things they should not say," Fran said as she gently lowered herself to the ground. She smiled sadly. "But that is the way of things. Now, shall I start my story?"

There were nods.

Ashe couldn't seem to stop herself from walking. She knew it was a dangerous and foolish idea, to leave the safety of the party, especially when it was likely that she would not be able to find her way back, but she couldn't stop herself from moving.

It was like she couldn't stay there any longer. With Balthier, his eyes stripping away all her layers, looking into her soul, knowing what she thought and felt. What she _felt_.

Her heart ached, but she couldn't even begin to say way. She stopped walking, sucked in a breath, and rubbed the ache. Her anger was depleted, but her weariness and sadness was not. And she wasn't ready to go back, not yet.

She started walking again, slowly this time, trying to calm her beating heart. She wanted Balthier to understand, she realized. To understand, to understand how important this was to her. The way he had… had so casually dismissed what she had needed to do, who she had needed to follow. It hurt.

Mostly, Ashe just wanted Balthier to understand.

Somehow, the wind in the Feywood managed to carry Fran's voice to Ashe. She looked back toward the camp—gone now, in swirling snow—and listened to the Viera's soothing voice.

_"Once, long ago, there lived a beautiful maiden named Rhiannon. She enjoyed nothing more than to ride her horse every day, wild and free as the wind, tamed by nothing. She would leave every morning and not return to her father's castle until nightfall. _

As it was the way during that day, Rhiannon's father chose the man she was to marry. His name was Gwawl and Rhiannon found him at once to be distasteful, coarse, and nothing that she would want. Rhiannon tried to convince her father that she would be happy with no man, that no male alive could do so.

But he would not relent and told her that she would have no choice but to marry Gwawl, as no other man was willing to wife a woman so wild as she.

In deep despair, Rhiannon took even longer rides into the country side. Soon she noticed that a rider followed her, attempting to converse with her. She ignored the man and continued on. She was such an excellent rider that they could not catch her unless she wished them to. And Rhiannon was in no mood to speak to men, so they did not.

For three days, a different rider followed her and each day, Rhiannon out rode them. She was sure that they would eventually give up and leave her be, but on the fourth day she noticed a very different rider trailing her.

His bearing was regal and he was tall. From the distance she could not make out his face, but she immediately sensed that he was a powerful man, proud and haughty.

"Lady! Lady, please halt your horse! I wish to speak with you!" he called and Rhiannon strangely did as she was told and the man rode to her on his highborn horse.

"Lady, I am Pwyll. I seek your company on this ride through the forest." Up close, he was an attractive man, not at all unpleasant. And he smiled warmly at her. "I daresay you are one of the finest riders I have ever seen. Shall we take a turn through the woods together?"

Rhiannon considered this and eventually conceded and she and Pwyll rode through the forest together. And the days thereafter followed in the same way. Soon Rhiannon became aware that Pwyll was trying to court her and found this not all together unwelcome.

"I am to be married to a man named Gwawl," she told him one day and watched as Pwyll's face fell. "However, I would rather marry you. But Gwawl is a fierce man and neither he nor my father will free my hand, not even for you."

"Then how might I win you from him?" Pwyll asked.

Rhiannon and Pwyll together devised a trick to force Gwawl to release Rhiannon from their engagement. Rhiannon gave a magical bag that would hold anything in it without tearing. Pwyll called on Gwawl and they rode through the forest together one eve.

There Pwyll leapt upon Gwawl and trapped him in the bag, refusing to release the man until he released Rhiannon's hand. Eventually, Gwawl had no choice and Pwyll rode to Rhiannon's castle and married her that night.

For a time, Rhiannon found that she was happy in Pwyll's ancestral lands of Dyfed. Though she did not love this man—nor, she feared, would she ever come to the day when she would give her heart wholly—she was fond of him and that they spent many hours in the woods around the castle.

In time, Rhiannon became heavy with child. Pwyll was forced to leave during the birth of their child for some of the farmlands had been set ablaze. Rhiannon gave birth to a healthy son, but while the newborn was in the care of Rhiannon's ladies-in-waiting, the child disappeared. They feared they would be put to death, so they smeared the blood of a puppy over the exhausted Rhiannon.

When Pwyll returned, he found the ladies wailing that Rhiannon had eaten her son. And no matter what Rhiannon said, she could not convince Pwyll that she had no harmed her own son.

"You must atone for your sins," Pwyll told her, his face cold with disgust.

"You will regret this," Rhiannon told him sadly, but offered no more pleas for her innocent. Instead, she merely waited for her punishment.

Rhiannon was punished to take a long journey on foot to the High King's castle and wait outside in the courtyard, telling her story to all those who passed. And, if those that listened so wished it, she was to allow them to ride on her back and take them where they pleased.

Now, it happened that the king of this castle had a certain mare who gave birth to foals every year, but which would then disappear strangely through the night. Displeased with the lack of a proper answer, the king waited in his stables for the culprit.

He found a hideous beast with clawed arms attempting to eat newborn falls. The king slew this beast and followed its tracks deep into the woods. There he came upon its nest and was surprised to find a boy there.

The king, a kind soul, took the boy in and decided to raise him as his own. But the boy was a strange creature, and in the course of seven years grew into full manhood. By then, the boy had begun to look like a certain noble whose son had been killed.

Recognizing the boy as the son of Pwyll, the king returned him to his family. Upon being related the tale of his origins by his father, Pwyll's son returned to the High Court where his mother punished herself.

He found her before the courtyard and as she opened her mouth to speak to him, he smiled quickly at her and refused to let her speak. And Rhiannon saw at once that he looked like Pwyll, with her eyes and felt her own water with tears unshed.

"Mother," the boy said, a man now, after only seven years, and took his mother carefully by her shoulders. "Never again shall you suffer, this I promise."

And Rhiannon's heart turned over and she realized that indeed she did love. For she loved her son. With all her mother's heart. And it was as if the ice incasing her very body began to melt. "I pray for only your happiness," she said.

Pwyll and Rhiannon reconciled, but the distance between them was too great to ever be mended. But Rhiannon treated Pwyll with kindness, foreseeing that his end was nearing and that it would not do to hold a grudge against him.

Just before Pwyll died, Rhiannon's son—whom she named Pryderi—married a young maiden named Cigfa whom he found one day while visiting the farmers. He fell in love with her upon sight and would have no other woman, though his father tried to convince to marry a maiden of his social standing.

"Allow him his happiness," Rhiannon said, "So few of us achieve such bliss."

Eventually, Pwyll subsided and Pryderi married Cigfa and moved her into their castle. Shortly thereafter Pwyll passed onto the next life and Rhiannon mourned him as a widow should. But once more she took to riding long through the woods as her son and his new wife settled into life as lord and lady of the manor.

But Pwyll worried for his mother, whom he loved deeply. So worried, that he requested the presence of his good friend Manawydan—lord of a neighboring kingdom—in hopes that the man might woo his mother.

Rhiannon knew his plan and thought, to ease his worry, to marry Manawydan no matter how distasteful to her he might be. For she had come to realize that little mattered to her save her son's happiness. Before she had only been concerned with herself, with giving herself as much freedom as she could. But now, all she wanted to do was make her son smile.

To her everlasting surprise, she found that she enjoyed Manawydan deeply. He was a kind man, more so than even Pwyll, and he seemed to understand her and asked not that she love him with her entire being.

For Rhiannon it was enough.

"Lady, I am old," Manawydan said one day while they walked through the gardens of the castle. "And growing far older by the day. I have given up all hope of heirs—my brother and his sons deserve the lands as it stands—but I would not like the live the rest of my life alone. Would you spend them with me?"

"Yes. I will," Rhiannon agreed at once.

Manawydan frowned and took her hand firmly. "If you marry me for love of your son, dear lady, please reconsider. For you will be unhappy in such a match, and your son gauges his moods by yours so that he would surely be unhappy as well."

"I wish to marry you, Manawydan. For you are a kind man and I wish to spend my life with a kind man."

She there took his hand and Manawydan smiled simply and together they hurried back to the palace to announce Rhiannon's second engagement to her son and her daughter-in-law, who were both immensely pleased to know that Rhiannon would not be so alone.

Rhiannon and Manawydan retired to his estates where Rhiannon and he rode every day for what days they both had left. And though Rhiannon could not find it in her to love Manawydan deeply, and passionately, they were both happy with one another and they considered their lives complete in having found one another.

And Rhiannon was happy—happier than she ever dreamed she would be as a married woman—and her son was happy with his wife, and so her life was fulfilled.

There was nothing more she could think to ask for and she passed the rest of her days in a certain happiness." 

Fran's voice faded and Ashe strained to hear if there was more that she was simply not picking up. But there was no more sound, the Viera's voice had died down and the howl of the wind replaced her.

Ashe felt her lips move in a small smile. _Penelo will be disappointed with that story_, she thought, imagining the girl's face drooping with disappointment at the end of the story.

The story eased some of the ache in her chest and Ashe felt strong enough to return to camp. For a moment, she felt a flutter of panic as she turned and saw only white snow. But she had not made any turns and finding her way back to camp couldn't be too difficult.

Except as she moved back the way she came, she noticed a figure appearing out of the white mist.

It was Balthier!

Quickly, Ashe turned away and started to walk away from him, as if she had never had any intention of coming back to camp.

Not Balthier. Oh, she could not deal with Balthier right now. The sting of his words was still fresh on her skin, still raw, and she was stretched much too thin to put up with him. Why did he come after her? Why not Basch? Or Vaan?

"Ashe!" Balthier called, his voice nearly lost in the roar of the wind. "Ashe, stop!"

She ignored him and kept on walking. But soon enough, Balthier was at her side and grabbing her elbow sharply. When she tried to shake herself free, he pulled her against him, the heat of his body flowing into hers.

New, fresh panic wheeled up in her throat and she struggled against him. "You will release me, Balthier, or I swear I'll ruin that vest you favor so much."

"Don't be a fool, Ashe," Balthier hissed at her and merely tightened his grip on her elbow. "What will you prove by stomping off on your own… other than getting your lovely self killed?"

"Leave me be!" she shouted at him, finally wrenching her arm free. "I want nothing to do with you, Balthier. You're a horrible person. Crude and arrogant and I cannot _stand_ you!" She felt her cheeks drain of color and warmth, but the words were already out of her mouth and she could not stop them. "You don't understand. You never did. You just stand there and judge. Judge me! I won't stand for it. You'll leave or I will, I swear—"

Balthier covered her mouth with his hand, leaning down closer. "Ashe," he began.

She glared up at him and felt the strange prickle of tears at the back of her throat. She wanted him to let her go so she could fight back her overwhelming sadness.

Why? Why could he not _understand_?

With a sigh, he dropped his hand from her mouth and turned away from her slightly. "I feel I should apologize, princess, though I certainly don't enjoy these messy displays. The ring… was uncalled for."

Ashe felt cold, though she had no idea way.

"I just… I just want to be happy again, Balthier," she said and had him turning to her. "I was never as innocent as Penelo was, but I was happy like she was, once. And, now, for the last two years, all I've known is worry and fear and doubt."

"Chasing after ghosts isn't going to bring that back, Ashe," Balthier said and his lips twisted sardonically. "No one knows this better than me. You do that, all you'll end up doing is remembering the bad and wondering if you were ever happy."

His voice was something she had never heard before and she wanted to do nothing more than reach out and encircle him in her arms, to say she understood, and that no one had ever bared their soul to her, save him, and how precious that gift was. That complete trust.

Which is why she said to him, "The book… of fairytales, Rasler gave it to me."

As Balthier walked back to her, Ashe closed her eyes against the pain. Against remembering Rasler's young face as he handed down the ancient, worn text of happily-ever-afters, outraged that she had never been allowed to read such things.

She shut herself against remembering the joy, the joy that someone thought of her as Ashe and not Princess Ashelia. She shut her heart to remembering the first time she had ever fallen in love.

Strong hands cupped her shoulders and Ashe opened her eyes to met Balthier's. They were unreadable again, but Balthier was so very rarely readable, though he claimed to be so simple. He was complex, a jigsaw puzzle she never seemed to have all the pieces for.

"Can you blame me for chasing after that, Balthier?" she asked, feeling a tightness in her chest.

"No. But you'll burn yourself out that way, Ashe," he told her, his voice odd and hoarse, his fingers tight on her shoulders. "You have to look forward, Ashe, to the future. It can give you happiness too."

He leaned in.

_He's going to kiss me_, Ashe thought, feeling something quickly override her initial fear. He was so close she could smell him, the fresh soap and gunpowder on him. His hot breath fanned her lips and she felt her eyes close.

Her hands lifted with an intention… well, she had no idea what to do with them so she dropped them back to her sides.

And she realized that more than anything, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to know what it was like. She was tired of chasing the happiness of her past, she wanted it in the future, in the present, she wanted it to be _in him_.

The wish was strong, wild, and it swelled up in her chest and it suddenly felt like the world would align if she just kissed Balthier.

_Please_, she thought, _please, Balthier_… please don't leave me. Please understand me. Please, please love me.

And just as she felt the brush of his lips against her own, she was suddenly standing alone in the snow, Balthier backing away from her. His face was contorted into an expression that she had never seen before, part anger, part frustration, part… something else entirely.

"It's very hard competing with the dead, Ashe," Balthier said, voice tight and strained, like he was psychically holding himself back from rushing at her and swinging her up into his arms. "We should head back to camp."

Her mouth was hanging open and she quickly shut it and nodded tightly.

_It's good that it didn't happened_, she told herself, even though a part of her fervently denied it. _What's wrong with you? What would have happened if you_ had _kissed him? Then what? You're a future queen, he's but a sky pirate. Where could this have gone?_

Head down, she followed him quietly, trying to convince herself that the stop had been for the best. But she could not.

She wished Balthier would turn and talk to her. Not necessarily about the kiss, but just speak to her. She needed to hear his voice, to try to read it more. Had he stopped because he found her so repulsive?

"Balthier—" she began just as the wind ripped through their hair. Her voice was lost in the howl of the wind and Balthier didn't acknowledge her.

Anger bloomed across her cheeks. If that was how he wanted to act, fine. She could act cruel and hateful to him to. He was the one that had leaned in to kiss her. Not she.

Her fingers tightened into useless fists. She wanted to shout and scream at the unfairness of it all. How could it have come to this far? How could she want the one thing she could not have?

And the arrogant man, he had tempted her and now she would never be settled. He held her as she had secretly yearned to be held only to toss her aside.

Competing with the dead? What did _that_ mean?

It was Balthier merely being Balthier, Ashe thought, and thrust out her chin.

The camp finally came into view and Ashe allowed a sigh of relief to pass through her lips. Vaan waved to her and she managed to lift her own arm to answer. She quickened her steps to them and find her elbow caught once more as she brushed passed Balthier.

From this distance, Ashe wondered if Basch could see them, and she wondered if Balthier cared.

"Ashe…" he started, again in that strange tone.

Weariness filled her soul. She was tired of his games. Tired straight down into her soul. "Release my arm, Balthier," she said thickly.

He looked into her eyes and for a moment she thought he would refuse and go on holding her until the world collapsed around them. And what was worse, her fear was outweighed quickly by a sharp pang of want.

Balthier groaned and let her arm ago.

"I'm tired of this, Balthier," she told him and refused to look into his eyes. "Do you understand?"

"I think I do, princess. More's the pity." Balthier said nothing for another long set of time, before walking toward camp. "I'd rather I didn't understand. But that is not how the gods played our hand."

Ashe watched his retreating back and held herself from the urge to rush after him, to take a hold of his hand, and refuse to let go. Instead she merely stared him, knowing he knew she stared, and wishing, wishing, _wishing_…

…though she did not know why.

* * *

**note:** uh-huh! Looks like Balthier will be telling his story at least. XD What story will he be telling, I wonder?

**reviews**

**Talim-Hime:** I'm glad the whole Balthier/Ashe thing hasn't turned you off to the story. XD I do so love it when two different shippers can come together to enjoy story telling without all those horrible Ship Wars. To each his/her own, right? I noticed that I tended to get Van's character down better than all the rest. Maybe my innate dislike of him always me to be an unbiased observer?

**Feeny:** hehe, maybe in a few more years Vaan'll be alright. Admittedly, he wans't so bad in what little I did play of Reverent Wings (I have no DS). Now all we have to do is wait and see what tale Balthier will tell.

**Zaz9-zaa0:** I know. Vaan's story was shocking. I always knew he'd fit the Greek myths, but I had to rewrite his retelling like four times, because it needed to be legable but not too elequent, because this is Vaan, right? Balthier just picks on everyone. I'm sure Fran had to blackmail him with some sordid information about his past to get him to leave her alone.

**Story Weaver1: **lol. I can totally see Balthier giving Vaan a swirly. XP Sorry about the lack of Balthier and Ashe waff this time around. Those two look like they're heading into some pretty angsty terroritory.

**Withdrawn:** secretly, I think everyone feels sorry for Vaan. I mean, he keeps screwing up and they keep making excuses for him. Especially Basch. I like Fran and Balthier in a more platonic kind of way, since I think it adds a unique dynamic to their partnership. They're close, but they're not lovers. But, then again, I don't begrudge anyone the right to ship Fran and Balthier. In fact, I'll admit that it was probably supposed ot be canon in Reverent Wings. But it's just no my cup of tea. XD


	6. Balthier's Tale

**disclaimer: **I own nothing 

**teaser: **in which fairytales, legends, and sorted mythology are told by knights, pirates, urchins, and princesses to hold off boredom and depression (more or less)

**author's notes: **yay for spring break! I'm actually get shit done. What a surprise. XD I figured I'd get this done and move onto another project of mine, so here you go. Ah, sorry about the sudden angst at the end. That's where Balthier and Ashe wanted to take it, and I can't argue with the muses, can I?

* * *

**/the lord of the Dead who stole the daughter of the Spring, as related by Balthier/  
**_(or the retelling of Hades and Persephone)_

All was quiet in the Balfonhiem Manse, which in itself seemed a violation. People had always been running back and forth in the port city, voices raised in argument or in jovial merriment. Reddas's own husky, deep voice had reverberated through all halls.

But the man was dead and all was quiet.

Even Ashe could not find words to break the heavy silence that surrounded them all, and within a day's time they would be on the _Bahamut_ and she would face her destiny.

Her heart twisted in mourning. She couldn't believe that she had come this far, after so long, and now hesitated. Reddas had made her think. The man's sacrifice had been selfless, a desperate attempt to correct past wrongs… could she ever be so humble? So moral?

She had said she had set aside the Occuria, and the Nethecite, and revenge. But had she really? Did some part of her still yearn for vengeance for what had been done to her? Ashe knew she wanted Vayne punished. Was that not a want of revenge?

Her thoughts would not ease and she tossed over in her large bed. Though Reddas was gone, and with him their connection to the port city, no one had questioned their stay at the manse. Instead, the pirates had gone about their duty, preparing the funeral rites for their leader.

Vaan had retired the minute they had arrived and he would not even allow Penelo to come into his room to offer comfort. Basch had eventually explained to Penelo that sometimes a man needed time to himself to settle with the idea of death.

It was the first time Basch had referred to Vaan as a man.

But she did not cry for the pirate. And not because she had not come to care for him. It was not that at all. She was merely all dried up inside. She had no more tears to shed. She was tired of mourning constantly, of one blow after another.

Reddas would not want her to mourn for him, she told herself stubbornly. What he did, he had done to make peace with himself. To be able to ease the heavy guilt of his soul. It was what he had had to do.

She still wished he was here now, offering words of wisdom, preparing for battle with the rest of them.

There was a knock on her door. Ashe blinked and sat up. Basch, no doubt, looking to ease his own grief by going over battle plans that would likely never be used nor do any good. But she would let him talk, and they would both find some measure of comfort.

"Enter," she said as she swung her legs over the wide, soft bed. The rooms in Reddas's manse were all small, but cozy, filled with deep colors of red and blue and green, making Ashe think of her own bedroom in Rabanastre.

"Trouble sleeping, Basch?" she asked as sheturned from the door to reach for her robe.

Truly, she had no problem with the man seeing her in her brief nightgown—Balfonheim was too hot to wear anything more than a thin, thigh-long gown—as this man had changed her diapers but she knew that Basch had a highly evolved sensed of propriety and she sought to ease his embarrassment.

"An illicit tryst with your knight, Ashe?" Balthier drawled from behind her and tsked. "Very unbecoming."

A heavy blushed stained her cheeks and she wheeled around, shamed that a squeak escaped her lips and she clamped a hand around the collar of her robe like a virgin maiden.

"Balthier," she hissed, "Just what do you think you're doing here?"

Balthier shrugged and walked into the room like he had every right to be there. Which wasn't even close to the truth. Since that meeting in the Feywood their relationship had been strained at best. The friendship had dissolved under heavy tension.

Sometimes, Balthier would catch her eye and Ashe would recognize the heat in his on a fundamental level, but would have no knowledge of how to respond. And Balthier would so cleverly dismiss her that she doubted that the heat she saw in his eyes was even for her. How could a man blow hot one moment and cold the next?

And she hated that she couldn't read him anymore. Of course, he had always managed to give off some air of anonymity, but she had always been able to catch some inkling of what he was feeling, of what he was thinking. Especially after the Phon Coast.

But now… now it was as if he was purposely masking himself from her. And she could not ascertain why.

"Balthier, I'll thank you to answer my question and leave," she said tightly, making sure to keep distance between them. No matter what she did, or how cold Balthier become to her, she could not forget how badly she had wanted him to kiss her, how desperately she had needed it, and how weak that made her.

Balthier turned and looked at her and Ashe felt her breath catch in her throat. They stared at each other for a long moment and Ashe wondered if she shouldn't just leap the distance between them and hold him until he gave into her.

She held herself back.

Then Balthier said, "I think you remember that I've yet to tell a story?" When she blinked at him, Balthier went on, "Everyone else is waiting for you, Ashe. It's high time I showed you all how to tell a story properly."

Ashe released a breath and wondered why his answer hurt her so much. "I'd rather just go to sleep, Balthier. You can tell your story without me."

"You can't fool me, Ashe," Balthier told her with a gentle wag of his finger. "None of us will sleep this night, even if Reddas had not died. Tomorrow is the end, isn't it? After all this time, you'll finally have reached the end of your journey. And we with you."

"Yes, I know that." She loosened her hold on the neck of her robe and looked away. "How could I forget?"

"Ashe," Balthier said and his voice was gentle. "Don't think on it yet. Instead of worrying about this in your bed until the sun breaks the horizon, why don't you come down with me and listen to a story? We'll all feel better for it."

He held out his hand for her and Ashe gnawed her lower lip for a moment, before stepping toward him and taking his hand. She felt better the moment his fingers closed around hers and she allowed him to guide her from her room and down into the large study of the manse.

The study had been designed in the old Northern Rozzarian style, with the floor sinking into a small circle in the center, where a fire could be made, the entire circle lined and fitted with thick cushions acting as seats.

The rest of the party was already assembled, Vaan staring into the fire, Penelo looking at him every so often, and Basch and Fran talking in soft voices.

She and Balthier ascended the steps into the circle, the warmth from the crackling fire hitting them immediately. Basch looked up at them and Ashe felt his scrutiny of her robe and her less than pleased look.

But she smiled to show him that it was not Balthier's fault.

The said sky pirate took a seat closest to the set of stairs and Ashe had no choice but to sit beside him.

"Well, now that we're all present and accounted for," Balthier drawled, dropping his arm onto the back of the high cushions. It just so happened that Ashe was close enough to Balthier be included in the span of his arm. "How about we begin?"

"You're the one who insisted in dragging us out of bed, Balthier," Basch pointed out, looking non-to-pleased at the way Balthier had his arm draped around Ashe's shoulders.

"You're just worried that my story will make yours look like something an illiterate two-year-old would tell." A grin crossed Balthier's face, sharp and fast. "But, your fear is not without its merit. I promise not to mock you for your poor story telling when I'm through."

"If you would please being, Balthier," Fran said, her voice deep to hid her chuckle.

"Because you asked, Fran." Balthier turned his head and looked at Vaan. "You might get a kick out of this, Vaan. It has those gods from your tale."

Vaan looked up, his eyes still worried, but light now with slight interest. "Really? So there's blood?"

Ashe realized then that Balthier was trying to drag Vaan out his dark thoughts without making it look like that was what he was doing. And she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him tight for that fact alone. And it was the most amazing feeling because she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted to hug someone for just being them.

"The only way you'll find out is if you listen," Balthier told him.

_"Once, long, long ago, the world was ruled by many gods. The king of the gods was called Zeus, and he had many brothers and sisters. And all the gods lived on a mountain that touched the sky, referred to here as Olympus. _

_But there was one god who did notdwell in the hallowed halls of the heavens. His name was Hades, the lord of the Underworld. His duty was to guard and control the souls of all those who passed on and crossed the river that lead to the afterlife, the River Styx._

_He was unwelcomed on Olympus. That was not to say he was a deformed man. In fact, all the gods were unearthly beautiful, and Hades more so than others, for in his eyes were the secrets of man, and that made him all the more attractive. But, his disposition was so dank and so dreary that by merely standing beside someone they could feel the weight of his burden and death pressing down on them. Where there was light, Hades was to bring darkness._

_And so, no god ever invited Hades to Olympus._

_But this was fine for Hades, for he found he had a deep dislike for the ways of Olympus. He had no time for parties andfoolish tricks onthe mortals—he had enough of that from his duties—and the goddesses and the gods and their affairs and wars. Instead, he was content to shun Olympus as Olympus shunned him._

_Of course, over time, Hades found that he became lonely. There were other gods and goddesses down in the Underworld with him, who helped him control and ferry the souls of the dead, but they had been born in the darkness. Hades knew the light, remembered embracing it as a young boy, and missed it._

_He came into the habit of slipping up into the world of the mortals occasionally, not speaking to the living, but rather just enjoying the sunlight as he could not do in the kingdom of death. He would spend an hour or two lying on the soft grass, soaking up the sun, before returning to his kingdom, content._

_In time, though, even this came to be not enough. Hades yearned for something more, though he did not know what. He thought to question his brother, Zeus, on the matter, but did not want to visit Olympus and get embroiled in one scandal or another that was always going on up there. Instead, he thought to ignore it until the ache in his breast faded._

_It came to pass that one day, while finishing up his time on earth, Hades heard beautiful singing from behind the wall of foliage and trees that he relaxed under. He gathered himself and sought the noise out._

_He found that it belonged to a group of nymphs and one goddess. The daughter of Demeter, goddess of the agriculture and fertility, the young goddess of Spring._

_There had only been whispers of her existence until that moment. It was said that Demeter had had an illicit affair with Zeus that begot her with child and Demeter had come to love Persephone so deeply that she feared that some god would take her daughter from her, and this fear soon became not unwarranted as Persephone grew into her beauty._

_And so Demeter had hidden the girl away, safely on earth, away from prying eyes. Until the moment that Hades heard her singing._

_Never before had he felt this tightness in hischest! This inability to properly breathe. It was like his breath had been stolen from him and he could not look away from the beautiful girl who smiled with the innocence of spring._

_It was than that Hades knew he would love her for all his eternity and would want no other woman._

_But Demeter would never surrender Persephone. She had denied Apollo, it was said, so what hope did Hades have? Ah, but Hades would not allow Demeter to stand in his way. If she would not give him permission, than he would simply not ask for it._

_The next day Persephone trailed away from the nymphs that watched over her at her mother's behest. Her laughter rose like sunbeams into the sky, her long wave of golden hair flowing behind her. She captured the very essence of youth and happiness._

_Suddenly, she came upon a man she had never seen before—not that she had seen many men. He was tall and dark-haired and all at once she knew she should run and return to her mother and to the protection of the earth._

_Somehow, though, she could not._

_Persephone was curious about the man who now approached her. She couldn't move, and secretly, she did not want to._

_Hades reached her and held out his hand. "Come with me," he said to her and she could not stop herself from reaching out and taking his hand._

_The nymphs arrived just into time to bear witness as the Lord of the Dead gathered the Daughter of Spring into his arms and carried her to his chariot, where they descended down into his realm. The nymphs began to cry wildly as they realized what had been lost to them._

_Demeter came for them and learned from them what had happened. Though they had seen Persephone be kidnapped by a dark man, they had never before seen the Lord of the Dead and they had no idea that it had been Hades who had stolen away Persephone._

_Demeter's heart grew heavy with the devastation of her loss and she wildly began to wander earth calling for her daughter. So deep was her despair that the land around her turned to salt and would not grow. Snow covered theground and the people starved and died and cried out for comfort, but Demeter's heart could not hear them in her grief._

_Finally, Zeus could no longer ignore these events. He was angry at Demeter for keeping Persephone from prying eyes—for one of his favorite sons, Hercules, had once desired her—and he had long ago vowed never to interfere with the workings of his brother Hades._

_But he was also the god of all mortals and as their prayers to him became louder and louder, he could no longer turn a deaf ear._

_He summoned a haggard and half-crazed Demeter to him and she stood, shaking, at the foot of his throne, desperate to return to earth to resume her search._

_"Woman, look upon your earth," Zeus commanded of her, his face stern and unforgiving. "See how the people suffer. It is time for you to come out of your mourning and see to your duty before there are no more mortals left for us to rule."_

_"What care I for the lives of mortals?" Demeter shrieked, ripping out her hair as she dropped to her knees. "The life of my daughter is gone. She is lost! Lost to me! Let the world suffer with me, let them know this mother's grief."_

_"This grief is selfish. What if Persephone is happy where she is?"_

_"No!" Demeter cried. "She yearns for me, of this I am sure, and nothing on earth will grow until I can hold her once more in my arms."_

_Zeus saw that his sister would not bend on this and sighed deeply._

_"And if I were to tell you I know where your daughter is—"_

_"Persephone? You know where she is? Then tell me! You must tell me!" Demeter all but leapt upon him in her desperation to know but Zeus stood and walked stiffly toward her, his face dark and unreadable._

_"She has gone with Hades, our brother and Lord of the Dead, to his kingdom far below earth. There she resides with him as his consort, and soon to be his wife." Zeus grimly rubbed his long beard._

_"No," Demeter moaned and dropped to her knees, beating her breast. "No. Collect her at once, brother. Bring her back to me or I swear I shall not allow a single sapling to spurt on this earth. I swear upon my immortality the world shall be a bleak and cold one."_

_Zeus saw that he had little choice in this and, at last, consented to speak with Hades._

_Meanwhile, Hades lived the months in joy with Persephone, who brought light to every corner of the Underworld. And she found that she was happy with him, but there was an uneasiness in her breast that she could not ignore, and the ache grew deeper with every passing day._

_"Does something trouble you?" Hades asked of her as he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her against his body. "I would give you everything I have if only to ease your sadness."_

_"I'm not sad," Persephone replied to him and then paused. "Not very. But I—I miss my mother's world. I miss the grass and the sun and the flowers and the nymphs and—"_

_"I understand." Hades dropped his arms from around her, hiding the pain in his eyes. "This kingdom of mine is dank, and dreary. What person would willingly bind themselves to it, for however short a period of time?"_

_"No," Persephone was quick to protest. "It's not that. Truly. Happy am I with you and I would like to stay here, at your side, but… I cannot deny that I yearn for the taste of Spring, the sweet smell of blooming. It is all I have ever known, it was my staple of life. But this place is not so terrible that it destroys all warmth in it. Perhaps all I need is more time to adjust? Perhaps in time I will forget the Spring."_

_"That won't do. I know what it is to forget the light and I would not wish it on you." Hades was not a man to bear his soul, indeed if gods have such things, but he could not stop himself from saying, "Before that moment that I saw you in the glade, I thought my heart had forgotten sunshine and spring. It was not so."_

_Persephone said nothing, but reached out to take his hand and draw him to stand beside her. Hades went and looped an arm around her waist and together they stood._

_"The earth suffers. I know you feel it dying. Your mother will give it no rest until she has you once more." Hades drew away from her again. "Surely you feel that."_

_"Yes. And I miss my mother as well." She looked over at him. "What should we do?"_

_"Give me time to think on it," Hades answered and then, feeling a great love and tenderness in his heart, he reached out and stroked her cheek. "I do not think I could bear to be parted from you."_

_"Nor I," Persephone whispered in return, long after he was gone._

_At last, Zeus descended upon the Underworld, roaring for his brother. Hades did not appear before him in great haste, knowing very well there was little Zeus could do that would harm him._

_"Where is she?" Zeus asked of him the moment they stood facing each other in the Underworld's throne room. "You have caused quite the mess, brother. It's one thing to dally with women, if you so wish, but it's another to take them from their homes!"_

_"You refer to the woman I seek to make my wife?" Hades lifted a bow, coolly unaffected by the glare of his brother. "Is that not the right thing to do?"_

_"Demeter has damned the earth, you lout! Nothing grows and the people die. You of all people should know that." Zeus looked down into his brother's passive face and wearily rubbed his temples. "Enough. I made a vow not to interfere in your ways, but in this I must make a ruling. You are to return Persephone to her mother's side. We'll find you another woman to take to wife."_

_"Unlike you, brother, my heart is not so easily turned. I will have none other save her." Hades looked away, down to the River Styx, the place where all souls go upon their passing. "But take her. I find my kingdom that you have so graciously bestowed upon me is becoming too crowded."_

_Persephone entered the room, looking between the two gods. "My lord?" she breathed to Hades as he approached her and brought her into an embrace._

_Into her open palm he discreetly placed six small seedlings. Persephone did not look down as her fingers closed over them, but she blinked._

_"Return to your mother, Persephone. I know you long for her." He brought her into his arms and said against her ear, "Those are for your journey, should you become hungry."_

_As Zeus led her back into the world of light, Persephone chewed silently on the seedlings, careful not to alert the king of the gods. And swallowed them without a moment's hesitation._

_On the desolate earth, Demeter awaited the arrival of her daughter. When, at last, she saw Zeus bringing to her Persephone, the world at once burst to life. Flowers and scents and Spring filled the air as Demeter rushed to her daughter and pulled the young woman into an embrace._

_"Oh my darling! My darling!" Demeter cried robustly, all but absorbing her daughter in one large embrace._

_"Persephone, I have one thing I must ask you. But it is of the utmost importance that you answer." Zeus approached the girl and looked down into her eyes. "Did Hades press you to eat anything while you stayed with him? A fruit perhaps? Sweet meat?"_

_"But, of course, my lord Zeus," Persephone said and ignored her mother as she gave a low wail of terror. "Before leaving, Hades granted me pomegranate seeds and I grew so hungry that I ate them all at once."_

_"No! No!" Demeter's eyes grew wild and the earth shook around her feet. "I will not have it! I do not care what the law says! Hades will not take my daughter from me! My daughter!"_

_Zeus ignored. "The law, child, says that any living creature that eats the food of the dead must remain as the dead within the Underworld. How many seedsdid you swallow?"_

_"All that he gave me." Persephone answered without a hesitation. "Six."_

_It was then that Zeus saw the truth in her eyes. That Persephone had known what was to happen to her if she had eaten what Hades had given her. And he saw that, in her eyes, there was not one ounce of regret._

_"Hush, sister," Zeus snapped to Demeter as she sobbed to the heavens. "Persephone has saved herself. By eating only six seeds, she will only spend six months of the year with Hades, who is to be her husband. The other six will she spend in the sun, with you."_

_"And when I do not have her, the world shall suffer with me!" Demeter vowed and quickly brought Persephone into her arms. "Oh, my darling, please take heart. Hades will not dare to harm you. Do not be afraid."_

_"I am not, Mother," Persephone answered and looked over at Zeus. "Should I not return now?"_

_Demeter clutched Persephone to her and held her tight, but Zeus quickly freed the girl with a mere flick of his wrist. Then he brought her back down into the Underworld, and the earth became barren once more._

_But the people knew that it would not last, for the oracle said that the Queen of the Dead would soon retake her rightful place as the Daughter of the Spring, and all would flourish once more. For now, they would suffer winter and merely pray for spring._

_In the Underworld, Persephone flew into Hades' open arm, their laughter ringing out through the vast, soulless halls of the Underworld and for a moment, just a moment, the place where all souls went shone with the light of the sun and smelled, distinctively, of spring._

_Then, Hades kissed his new bride and the image died around them, but they took no notice._

_Caring little for such things, Zeus left them there and vowed never to return again. He sent his son, Hermes, every six months to collect Persephone, who half-reluctantly, half-eagerly left her husband's side to stand by her mother._

_For though she loved the Lord of the Dead, Persephone was forever a child of the light and naught would change that._

_But Hades preferred it that way. For, though their six months apart was long, he knew she would return and on her lips would be the sweet taste of Spring, and for the rest of his eternal life, that would be enough."_

Penelo leaned back into the softly cushioned wall and sighed. "Oh, Balthier, that was _so_ romantic."

Vaan looked less than pleased. "It was alright. I guess." He frowned and looked away. "Couldn't you have told a story about Troy instead? I bet you know a lot of them."

"Sorry. War stories were never my forte," Balthier said easily and grinned over at Fran and Ashe knew that he was lying.

From what little he had been willing to speak to her of his younger years, Ashe imagined Balthier—he had been named something else, Ashe realized, but she couldn't remember what Doctor Cid had called him—had lapped up stories of war and death and retribution.

Penelo yawned, immediately looking sheepishly over at Balthier, as if she was half-afraid he'd accuse her of finding his story tiring.

"I believe we should turn in," Basch said, standing. "Vaan? Penelo? That was not a suggestion."

"Indeed, no. Tomorrow, we make in all haste for the _Bahamut_. Rest is not optional," Fran agreed and looked over at Balthier. "We should _all_ get rest."

Ashe wondered at the look that passed between them and couldn't help but feel a small pang of envy. How long had it been since she had been able to share such eyes with someone? Not even Vosslar, when he had been alive and had been her man…

She shook her head and cleared her thoughts.

"But do I _have_ to?" Vaan whined slightly, too tired to realize just how young his voice sounded at his words. "I'm not tired or anything. Maybe just one more story."

"Sleep." Basch's voice suggested that the subject was quite final and woe to anyone who tried to change his mind.

"But, Basch—"

""Fran, if you would please cast sleep…"

"I'm going, I'm going," Vaan muttered sourly and stuck his tongue out at no one in particular—because Basch would kill him. "Then you have to go to bed, too. I mean, why do you get to stay up and I don't?"

"Could it be because we're older?" Balthier said beside Ashe, mostly under his breath. "Heavens no. That couldn't possibly be the reason."

"C'mon, Vaan. They're going to bed." Penelo tugged at Vaan's wrist, leading him toward the stairs. "And you can even tell me one of your stupid war stories if you can't sleep."

"They're not _stupid_, Penelo. They're… they're… they're a lot better than your stories. They never have a point!" Vaan shot at her angrily.

"Oh, so falling in love and living happily ever after isn't a point?"

"Of course it isn't!"

"But tearing your enemy limb from limb with all the blood and death and destruction is a point?"

"It's not about that!" When Penelo snorted, Vaan shouted at the top of his lungs, "_It's about justice_! And _honor_! An—and _war_! And really, really, really important stuff like that."

As Vaan and Penelo's voices faded, Ashe felt her own fatigue return. She got to her feet, the world spinning in one, long circle, before she regained her balance and made to follow the two, praying that by the time she reached her bedroom, they at least would have reached some impasse.

"Princess," Balthier called, and stood as well. "A word?"

Basch grunted in tell-tale disapproval and Balthier turned to grin winningly at him.

"I promise, Basch, she will be returned to you in _almost_ the same condition she leaves in now." And before Basch realized what exactly Balthier had said, the sky pirate had moved, taking Ashe's elbow and guiding her along with him.

She quickly freed herself and walked ahead of him, down into the hallway of Reddas's manse and onto the cement balcony that overlooked the sea. The fresh salt in the air soothed her and she inhaled deeply, a chill sweeping across her skin.

"What is it you wish to speak to me about, Balthier?" she asked, not wanting to look at him in fear that she would regret it.

"How are you feeling?" Balthier asked. "About tomorrow?"

"You purposely goaded Basch just to ask me that?"

"No. I purposely goaded Basch because the man makes it far too easy. Plus, it's quite humorous to see his face contort like that." Balthier gave a great, heaving sigh. "Such frowns! His face is bound to get stuck like that, you know. Yours, too. You should smile more often. You're quite pretty when you do."

"Balthier," she said warningly, feeling a small spurt of heat in her cheeks.

"But I truly wanted to talk to you, Ashe. Tomorrow, perhaps, is the most important day of your life. I wanted to see how you felt."

And he did, truly. She could hear the sincerity in his voice. And her traitorous heart turned over and sighed quietly.

"It's strange. I've dreamed of this day for so long, so sure that I would be glad to see its coming. And yet… now I find that I wish to hesitate, wish to pray for more time. I fear what comes, Balthier. Tomorrow and the days that follow." She wrapped her arms around her suddenly chilled shoulders. "What if I am not what is best for Dalmasca? What if I am ineffectual? A poor ruler? What if I am too weak to do what they need me to do?"

"The last thing you are, Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca, is weak. Wife before you're sixteen, widow before you're seventeen, an orphan shortly thereafter, all eight brothers dead long before, the weight of an entire country that thinks you dead, a world on the brink of war, all on your shoulders. And, yet, here you stand, ready to face it. That's the opposite of all that is weak." Balthier came up to her side, close enough to touch her. "You'll never be weak… more's the pity."

She turned head—not in anger as she would have done but two months ago, but in curiosity; Balthier was a paradox of himself, he was a puzzle that she could never fully piece together—and looked at him. "Why do you say that?"

"Because if you were not so strong, if you were more weak, than I would ask you to run away with me. To steal away into the night, leave all this beyond you and stay with me." Balthier gave a short, curt laugh and looked into the sky. "But I suppose that if you were not so strong, I would not want to ask you."

There was nothing for her to say. Nothing she could say. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish caught and dangling on a hook.

Because, oh, she felt the pressure on her chest. A part of her, a strong part, a nearly unbearable part, wanted to take his hand and look into his eyes and tell him to ask her. Because if he asked her, then she would go with him. She could not say no to him.

And another part of her dreaded him asking her. Because if he asked her, than she would go with him. She could not say no to him. And she could no longer think about herself only. Not like this. Not when she had the weight of an entire people upon her.

She couldn't. And it broke her heart.

Balthier turned and faced her and Ashe wondered what he saw in her eyes and if he would ever tell her. She didn't think he would, and maybe that was for the best.

"I'm not a patient man by nature," Balthier said at last and lifted his hands to her shoulders. "But I could wait for you, Ashe."

"Wait…?" she muttered, confused. And then she wasn't.

_Rasler._

The ghost of her husband lingered between them, like a solid wall. And she wanted to tell him. Tell him that she loved Rasler, but she wasn't _in_ love with Rasler. That, without her knowledge, her heart had decided to move on.

There were so many things to tell him, Ashe realized, that she had been holding back from him. And she wanted to give them to him, everything he wanted, everything she had. For a moment Ashe the woman outweighed Ashelia the princess. And she nearly said, _let's go, Balthier. Wherever you want to go. Let's go._

But, she didn't. Instead, she merely said, "Balthier."

He brought her closer and tilted her face up to his with two fingers under her chin. She considered telling him no, but she couldn't make her lips form the words. This was perhaps the only time she would be able to be this close to Balthier again… perhaps it made her selfish and little, but Ashe did not want to say no.

She lifted herself to the tips of her toes and slid her arms around his neck as his dropped down to her waist. And she thought: yes. Please. If only just this once…

And he kissed her, slanting his lips just so against hers, his fingers tightening on her hips. She wished for two more inches so they were at a perfect height, but Balthier solved their problem by lifting her off her feet an inch. She clung to him because she would never be able to cling like this again.

The kiss was sweet, but there a tang of salt behind it that was all Ashe's doing. Because even as their lips mated—tongues dancing, teeth grazing, hands groping—she knew that soon she would let him go. Soon she would have to let him go.

His mouth was warm and tasted of the sky that was his mistress, and he parted her lips to accept his tongue and he sighed into her accepting mouth like he had been waiting for this and she knew the feeling. Because her body melted in ways it had never melted before and she tilted her head and caught his bottom lip and suckled and wished she was someone else, anyone else.

She wished she was weaker.

And Balthier put her back on her feet, his hands lifting to tangle in her hair, breathing hard against her head, and she clutched at his vest, trying to keep her heart in her chest and knowing it was futile. It was already his.

"You'll have to forgive me for that, Ashe," Balthier said, not letting her go, not just yet. "But I have this feeling that you'll be keeping me waiting forever. And a man needs something to sustain himself."

She looked into his eyes and knew that this man was going to break her heart, and he wasn't going to know it. Because he thought she still loved her long dead husband. And maybe that was for the best, too. But she knew that within but a few days' time her heart—opened again so suddenly—would be as it was two years ago, torn asunder and shattered with no foreseeable way to pick up the pieces. And Balthier would have been the culprit, the innocent culprit.

Ashe forgave him for it. For leaving her—as he would—and for whatever else he was going to do that would leave her hollow and empty again. She forgave him for it.

Balthier stepped back. "I think we should head to our rooms, princess. Before I break my promise to Basch."

She nodded and let her death grip on his vest go. "Balthier," she began, knowing if she said the next words, she would regret them later. "Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that I—"

A finger pressed against her lips. "Let's not say anything we'll wish we hadn't, alright? So years later we can just chalk it up to curiosity easily sated."

"Thank you, Balthier," Ashe told him, knowing this was all she could safely say to him.

Balthier lifted his shoulder in a wiry shrug, his lips curled harshly. "Being chivalrous is really a bother. I don't know how Basch puts up with it."

He turned to go away, and Ashe couldn't just let him go.

"Balthier… if you had asked me—asked me to go with you, I would have said yes." If she could not tell him that she had given him her heart, she could at least give him this.

"Then it's a good thing I didn't ask, isn't it?" Balthier called over his shoulder, understanding her enough to know that she would go with him and regret abandoning her duty.

She watched him retreat and felt a little hitch in her next breath. But she held back her tears, knowing it was foolish to shed them. It was as Balthier had said. She was not the kind of woman who could forget everything and jet off with him, no matter how much a part of her yearned for it.

And because they both knew this—Balthier could not stay, and Ashe could not go—they both knew that there were some things better left unsaid, even if Balthier did not believe she loved him fully yet. That was why they had fought so fiercely in the Feywood. Because you could only keep things inside so long before they started to burn.

Sometimes, things did not end like a fairytale. In fact, things rarely did. Ashe's life was living proof. The golden princess in the shimmering kingdom, married to her Prince Charming, only to lose all and fall in love once more with the very man she could never possibly have.

She accepted that. That this was to be her sacrifice. Not for her people. But rather for Balthier. To chain him—even if to her—would be to destroy him, and she could never clip his wings. She would let him go on believing her heart yet remained to Rasler, so their parting did not hurt him as much as it hurt her.

But Ashe could not stop herself from whispering, "I love you," when she was sure Balthier could no longer hear. 

* * *

**notes:** let me just say, this wasn't the intended ending for the series. I wanted something light-hearted and happy, but instead it got all dark and angsty. It wasn't really my fault. It was the characters' fault. They should've stuck with the program, you know?

**reviews**

**Withdrawn:** well, I guess that did get very heavy on the Balthier/Ashe, didn't it? Well, it didn't end happily all the same. XP Fran's tale was meant to be like a splash of cold water, a dose or reality, because every one up to that point had been telling tales of fantasy and good-vs-evil and happily ever afters, and life isn't like that. Rhianna's story seemed to suit Fran, just because she seems the most grounded in the group.

**Fade to Blue:** the actual myth of Rhianna has a lot of subplots and side-stories, and like ten different versions, but through all of them Rhianna ends up marrying out of neccessity rather than choice and ends up suffering because of her husband's faults. I thought her story was rather sad.

**sharperimage:** Fran's tale was supposed to parellel how Balthier and Ashe were beginning to realize that they can't really get what they want, and they sort of have to be happy with what they have. XD Balthier's tale relates to how he has to let Ashe go, and how Ashe has to go even though maybe she wants to stay. The happy (kinda) end was just Balthier being hopeful.

**Feeny:** right on the money! I have a PS3, too, but like no games for it. I have Uncharted: Drake's Fortune, and Devil May Cry 4. That's it. And I beat them all ages ago and so the PS3 just sits there, collecting dust. That never actually happened to my PS2. Where the hell is Final Fantasy XIII?

**Zaz9-zaa0:** I know! Balthier/Ashe banter for the win! This stuff honestly just writes itself. I gave you some closure this time around, only it's really sad closure. Sorry. Balthier and Ashe just can't seem to make it work this time around. Those crazy kids. Next time, I'm going to give them happy endings (or not). But hey! Maybe, in my mind, Balthier still manages to get into Ashe's pants and they all live happily ever after! Take THAT reality!

**Talim-Hime:** Thank. Rhianna's tale worked out real well, didn't it?

**Story Weaver1:** I also got the feeling that Ashe _was_ desperate for love, or the love that she had lost. That's what I got from her chasing after Rasler's ghost. Maybe I was wrong. XD Obviously, Balthier has some issues with Ashe's dead husband, and one can hardly blame him since Ashe spends nearly all the game following the ghost wherever he goes, huh? I'd assume she was on the rebound, too.

**BruHaeven:** it took me a while ot beat FFXII, too. I kept thinking about getting it, but something also came up on me. FFXII was weird on pairings, since I'd assumed I'd like Basch/Ashe best of all, but there relationship didn't seem romantic at all, nor could it really be romantic. And I thought I'd totally ship Vaan/Penelo but then little Larsa literally dragged Penlo away 


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